Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And you have all of your books?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And your robes? And casual clothes?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And your broom? Is it packed safely—”

“Mom,” Alyssa cuts her off, a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “We triple checked everything at home. We’re fine. Besides, you can owl me anything I drastically need if we managed to forget it.”

The train behind them whistles, and Veronica pulls Alyssa into a hug. “I know. I know. Be safe. I’ll miss you. Say hello to the Klein girl, and keep your grades up.”

“You can just call her Kaylee.” Alyssa pulls back with a smile. “I’ll miss you too, but I’ll be home for Christmas!”

“But that’s so far away,” her mom groans good naturedly. “Remember, if you have any issues, ask Jules.”

“Yes, Mom,” she repeats again, thinking of her older friend, one of the few that her mom has met. He’s Slytherin’s quidditch captain, and never fails to be there when she needs him. He’s also pretty much her favorite person in the whole world, though she would never tell Kaylee or Shelby that. 

“I love you,” Mrs. Greene interrupts her thoughts gently. 

“I love you too.” Alyssa hugs her one more time before boarding the train that will bring her to school. Due to her anxiety she always made sure to arrive early to the station.

“‘Lys, over here!”

Never earlier than her friends, however. With a smile, Alyssa ducks into the compartment to be greeted by Shelby, who already claimed one whole bench, and Kaylee, who’s wearing a new scarf. 

“Hey!” She gets her trunk into storage before sitting down next to Kaylee. “Whatcha reading, Shelby?”

“History of color magic,” the Ravenclaw answers. “Turns out I have a neighbor who’s a squib, and he collects books on magic. I’ve been reading his library all summer.”

“It’s the only thing she’ll talk about in her letters,” Kaylee complains, and her scarf moves on its own. Actually, when Alyssa takes a closer look at it… “Oh! This is Royce. He’s my gift.”

Alyssa contains her urge to lean back as the head of a snake appears from Kaylee’s hair and hisses at her.

“He says hi. He can understand English, but can’t speak it himself.”

“Nice to meet you, Royce,” Alyssa greets. “How did you get him approved?”

Kaylee shrugs. “My parents know people.”

“Nepotism,” Shelby supplies.

“I know the word,” Kaylee retorts, crossing her arms. 

Alyssa laughs as her friends start up a familiar stream of bantering, content to let them talk. Looks like the train ride would be entertaining, as always.

***

Emma ducks her head into yet another compartment, only to immediately pull it out when the inhabitants throw a quill at her face. No matter how early she gets to the train station, she can never find an empty compartment. This year they even tried splitting up, with Nick and Kevin starting from the back of the train, and Emma and Greg from the front, but judging by the chocolate frog dropping from Greg’s hair, it isn’t working.

“How is every compartment full?” Emma groans, lightly bumping the back of her head against the wall.

“I told you we need to get here earlier,” Greg says unhelpfully, pulling the chocolate frog from his hair and popping it into his mouth.

“That’s disgusting.” Emma wrinkles her nose. You didn’t throw good chocolate at people’s heads; she didn’t even want to imagine where it had been.

“It’s free, and anyway, I need something to lift my spirits since we’re going to be spending the entire ride to school in the hall.”

Emma opens her mouth as if to argue, before closing it. He’s not wrong.

“Hey, there’s Kevin!” Greg waves down the hall where their other friends have just entered the train car. “Maybe they found something.”

“Everything’s full,” Nick says, looking just as annoyed as Emma feels. “The dumb first years are sitting two to a compartment.”

“Of course they are.” While Emma understands that it sucks to be a first year before you’ve made any friends, it would be nice if they could learn that you make friends by sitting in a compartment with them, thus allowing everyone else to actually have somewhere to sit. “We had no luck here.”

“Wait. We didn’t check this one,” Greg slides one door down and knocks lightly. “Is there any space in here?”

“Uh, I guess?” a voice responds, sounding not-so-particularly inviting. Greg’s face takes on a smug smile, and he slides the door open, holding out his hand to Emma in an after you gesture.

Emma takes one step inside and immediately wants to leave. “Greene.”

“Nolan.” Alyssa looks just as unhappy about the situation as Emma is.

“Also Nolan!” Greg adds when it’s clear that neither girl is going to move first. “You said we could sit here, and the train is about to leave, so if we could…”

Alyssa exchanges a glance with the other people in the compartment. Emma recognizes Shelby and Kaylee, the other members of Alyssa’s group. “Are you sure there are no other compartments?”

“We checked the whole train,” Nick pipes up from behind the cousins. “Stupid first years.”

“Trust me. We’re not any happier about it than you are.” The train lurches to the left, and Emma sits down to avoid falling over. 

The rest of her friends manage to squeeze into the compartment and sit down. Greg isn’t so lucky, he goes tumbling down into Kaylee’s lap. After some fumbling, he manages to get secure by sitting on three and a half different laps.

“Sorry, sorry—” Greg looks up at Kaylee, and his face turns white. “IS THAT A SNAKE?” He lurches to his feet, or more accurately, attempts to, only to fall on his butt on the floor. He seems to have a brief internal battle before deciding that the floor is, in fact, the best place to be sitting right now.

“Yes. This is Royce,” Kaylee informs him casually, as if there isn’t a four foot snake wrapped around her neck. “His real name is—” she makes various hissing noises that make Emma’s ears hurt— “But seeing as most people can’t pronounce that, I gave him a nickname.”

“I think we should just go sit in the hall.” Emma attempts to stand only to have Kevin grab the back of her shirt and pull her back into her seat. 

Shelby, on Kevin’s other side, rolls her eyes. “It’s just Kaylee flexing the fact that she’s bilingual, ignore her.”  

“The term is Parselmouth,” Kaylee huffs, bravely patting the snake on its head. “And it’s a rare skill that is passed down to only the purest of the Slytherin house.”

“Says the girl who went through a rebellious phase for all of a month last year where you wanted to be a Gryffindor, only to stop after realizing you didn’t want to climb so many stairs,” Alyssa laughs to Kaylee’s protests.

“Hey,” Nick retorts. “We’re in the tallest tower at Hogwarts!”

“It’s only the tallest because someone enchanted a hockey stick to the roof to make it taller than Ravenclaw tower,” Shelby replies shortly, somehow reading a book despite the jostling of the train.

“Y’all climb stairs to get to your dorms?” Greg asks. “Couldn’t be me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kaylee replies, “Because being hidden by barrels full of vinegar instead of a password is so secure.”

“Try answering a riddle every time you want to sleep,” Shelby scoffs.

As someone who is horrible at riddles, Emma takes a second to thank the sorting hat for not putting her in Ravenclaw.

“Every time?” Nick asks, clearly as baffled by the idea as Emma is.

Shelby nods solemnly. “Every time.”

“Is that why I saw you going into the Slytherin dorm at, like, 3am last year?” Emma asks. She had nearly forgotten about the memory, as it was early fall and she had been half asleep. In her defense, sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night and take a walk, only to get horribly lost since you go to a magic school where the corridors constantly change.

Shelby shrugs. “Sometimes you don’t have the brainpower to figure it out. It’s easier to remember a password you heard your friend say once while you were heading the opposite direction.”

“Is it?” Emma replies, disbelief lacing her tone. She can barely remember what barrel to tap at times.

By some stroke of luck, a knock rings out from the compartment door. “Candy from the trolley?” Emma sighs in relief as any attempt at conversation fizzles out when Nick and Kevin step on seven different feet— and Greg— as they clamber for food. 

It’s gonna be a long train ride.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Greene!” Shelby narrowly avoids being trampled by Emma and holds in a laugh at the look on Alyssa’s face when she sees the blonde. “So sorry about your last Potions paper. Are you sure you don’t need a tutor?”

“Are you volunteering, Nolan?” Alyssa jokes, playing nice in a way that she’ll deny it later, but Shelby knows it isn’t just pleasantries. It’s obvious in the way they interact that there’s more going on than just a rivalry. “Wouldn’t that make you lose your spot as top of the class?”

“Please,” she dismisses, pushing her glasses up. “I just want fair competition. Can’t have you suck in a class, now, can I?”

Alyssa doesn’t respond immediately, and Shelby is familiar enough with her to know that she’s at a loss for words, so she answers instead. “Sorry, Nolan, but I’m already helping her.”

“You are?” Alyssa and Emma ask at the same time, and Shelby smiles.

“I am,” She confirms, swinging an arm around Alyssa’s shoulders. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a Charms class to get to. Say hi to Kevin for me?” Before Emma can respond, Shelby steers Alyssa away. As soon as they’re out of earshot, she whispers, “What was that?”

“What was— Ow!” Alyssa flinches as Shelby smacks her. “What?”

“You didn’t tell me you bombed a Potions essay!” She scolds. “You know that you share that class with Emma, and you know it’s her specialty.”

“I missed one detail, and suddenly it’s an A minus,” Alyssa complains. “I’ve already finished three extra credit assignments. I’ll be back at the top of the class in no time.” As she talks, Shelby watches as Alyssa runs into the doorway of the Charms classroom, rushing ahead of her friend to get her favorite seat in the second row.

“How am I stuck as ranked second?” Shelby thinks aloud.

“You constantly forget assignments until the last minute because you’re too busy researching subjects you care about, then rush out an eighteen inch essay in twenty minutes,” Kaylee explains as she reaches them outside of the classroom. “If you cared, you would be first rank guaranteed.”

“You don’t even care about your rank,” Shelby says in defense, and Kaylee flips her hair. 

“With my charisma, who needs grades?”

***

Shelby is in such a hurry to get to her spot in the library that she nearly misses the fact that someone is already there. She stops in between the shelves, staring dejectedly at her favorite table. Ninety percent of the time it’s totally empty; the library can be a bit of a maze, with shelves stretching for what feels like miles— it’s probably not miles, but as Shelby has never managed to reach the back, she still doesn’t know for sure. Her table is further back than more students ever go, making it a perfect, distraction free place to study.

…Usually.

Greg is clearly deep in the book he’s reading. It appears to be an arithmancy textbook, and every once in a while, he turns to write something down without looking up.

Shelby shifts her weight back and forth trying to decide what to do. She would prefer to be alone, especially since she doesn’t know Greg very well, but the library is really big, and it could take her forever to find a new spot. She needs to start studying as soon as possible, so she reluctantly pulls up a chair. She manages to get most of her stuff set up without alerting Greg. It isn’t until she’s made her third trip back to the table to drop off another textbook she needs that he looks up.

“Shelby?” Greg looks around as if expecting more people to have appeared. “When did you get here?”

“Like, ten minutes ago.” She drops the final textbook she needs on the table and the ink bottles shake. “This is my study spot.”

“This is my study spot,” Greg says. “I’ve been coming here since second year.”

“Well, I’ve been coming here since first.” Shelby says smugly before a new thought occurs to her. “Wait, how have we never seen each other here?”

“I don’t know. I always come here in the afternoons,” Greg offers, and yep, that makes sense.

“Oh, I usually come in the middle of the night,” Shelby says. This is easily the earliest she’s been to the library, as she tries not to come before dinner unless absolutely necessary. “You know, procrastination.” She makes a jazz hands motion, and Greg laughs.

“That explains it.” His eyes drift back to his text book in a move that Shelby is incredibly familiar with, since she’s doing it too. It’s the classic I’m enjoying this conversation but this paper I don’t know how to write is hanging over my head and I need to resume studying asap move.

“I should really get to studying.” She gestures to the books, surprised to find that she didn’t mind talking to Greg.

“Yeah. Me too,” Greg pulls his parchment a bit closer, and Shelby notices that he already has over a foot and a half filled with notes. “Arithmancy is kicking my ass this year.”

“That’s how I feel about History of Magic,” Shelby sighs, already dreading the hours she’s going to have to spend researching this essay. “Arithmancy is a walk in the park compared to this.”

“Maybe I could help you?” Greg offers, awkwardly tapping his pencil on the table. “I love History of Magic. So I could help you with that, and you could help me with Arithmancy?”

Shelby examines him, trying to figure out if the offer is genuine, but he seems honest. It’s not a bad idea, and Shelby can’t think of a reason to deny. “That would be great.”

Greg smiles and pushes his arithmancy textbook out of the way. “I’ve been working on that Arithmancy for hours so let’s start with your stuff. What are you doing the paper on?”

***

“Professor Glickman!” Emma calls out after the man, who turns with a smile as she catches up with him. “Professor, do you know when the next rehearsal is? Nugget’s over his cold, and—”

“We’re meeting on Tuesday,” Barry answers, cutting off an impending ramble. “I’m glad your frog — Nugget, was it? — has healed. Have you been practicing?”

“When we can,” Emma explains, waving at Nick and Kevin as they walk by. “But I didn’t want to hurt him when he was getting over a cold, so we’ve been taking it easy. But we’re ready to go!”

Barry chuckles at her enthusiasm, probably thinking something like oh, youth or something else that middle-aged people think. “Well, Frog Choir will be very excited to see you and Nugget back in action, Emma. How are you faring in Herbology?”

Emma shrugs. “It’s fun. I really like knowing where the potion ingredients come from, and your class and Care of Magical Creatures are really fascinating in that aspect.” She makes a face suddenly when her body decides to remember what mandrake leaf had tasted like when Barry had her class try it last week. “I think I prefer eating vegetables, though.”

Barry laughs again. “So do I,” he says. “But it is my personal opinion that everyone should have to taste mandrake leaves at some point in their life. And I gave you an adolescent leaf; the mature leaves are rather sweet, especially after you suck on them for a long time.”

“When would I have to suck on one?” Emma asks, curiosity piqued.

“Never you mind.” Barry pats her head. “Now, don’t you have a quidditch practice to get to?”

“Shoot. You’re right!” A jolt of panic spreads through Emma as she realizes exactly what time it was. “Carrie’s gonna kill me! I gotta go. Good talk, Professor! See you in class!”

As she runs down the castle halls Emma swears that she hears the Herbology professor mutter something about endless energy, but she’s too busy trying to think of what she can tell the quidditch captain about her tardiness to think about it.

*** 

Shelby feels a tap on her shoulder, the roar of the crowd around her filtering back into her awareness as she is effectively pulled from her book. She looks up, annoyed, only to blink in surprise at a familiar face. 

“Is this seat taken?” Greg asks.

“Seats, actually,” Nick pipes up from behind him, and Shelby registers that Greg isn’t alone. The two Gryffindors behind Greg are decked out in Hufflepuff gear, no doubt stolen from their friends in the badger house.

Shelby stares at them for a second and nods to the sign hanging by the seats pointing out the fact that these three are asking to sit down in the Slytherin fan area.

Greg, probably oblivious, beams at her and flops into the seat next to her. “Thanks,” he starts. “The ‘puff section was full, and these two didn’t want to miss Emma playing; and then I noticed that you were alone, so…”

“Emma’s on the team?” Shelby asks, offering a small wave to Kevin who waves back, telling herself that she imagined the small flutter in her stomach at his lopsided smile; she barely knows the guy, anyway. “What’s her position?”

“Seeker,” Greg answers, “Though I’m not really a sports person, so I barely know what that means other than that she’s special.”

Nick punches his arm. “We’ve told you a million times, Greg. You just never listen.” Nick turns to Shelby. “Kev and I are on Gryffindor’s team. I’m a beater. He’s a keeper.”

“‘Lee and ‘Lys are chasers,” Shelby supplies. “They’re the only reason I’m here.”

“It also explains the green scarf you’ve got,” Greg teases. “Though, to be honest, yellow would suit you much better.”

“Or red!” Nick gets out before Kevin slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry, boys.” Shelby shrugs with a smile. “I’m taken. Maybe next time y’all’re playing?”

She notices Kevin’s face light up, and she takes a moment to memorize what joy and excitement look like on his face. Before they can say anything else, the announcer starts talking, narrating whatever is happening on the field.

Nick and Kevin immediately focus on the game, yelling and explaining what just happened while  Greg and Shelby occasionally yell out, go, sports! whenever one team or another did something good.

At one point, a loud cheer rises from both sides at the same time, and Shelby looks around in confusion. “What happened?”

“Gimme a minute.” Nick frowns, trying to hear the announcer over the confused mumbles of the crowd.

Shelby tunes into the announcer, too, but most of the lingo flies over her head. “Despite catching the snitch, the scores were so disproportionate that Slytherin won even with Hufflepuff gaining two hundred and fifty points at the end of the game.”

“What does that mean?” Greg tugs on Kevin’s sleeve, who turns to the two non-jocks.

“It means that Slytherin won the game, even though Emma caught the snitch.” Kevin shrugs. “There’s no way to explain it better. Sorry.”

“Does that mean they’ll both be happy, or…”

Greg shrugs. “Only one way to find out. We gotta go. We meet Emma outside of the locker rooms after every game. See you around, Gonzales!”

With a final wave, they’re gone. Shelby sighs. Might as well let the crowd thin out before heading down to meet her friends.

***

“Nice catch, Nolan!” Jules Lancaster calls, dismounting from his broom gracefully at a jog and moving in her direction. 

“Thanks!” she exclaims back, handing off the snitch to Carrie, who’s wrestling the game-balls back into the chest. 

“Shame that we still won,” Jules teases lightly, reaching out to ruffle her hair. 

“Truly, honestly unfair,” Emma jokes back, smiling when her mentor nudges her. Despite their opposing teams, he’s always been great about sharing skills and pointers. His biggest flaw is that his other closest underclassmen friend is—

“That’s all down to Alyssa.” The boy shrugs. “I know you’re already constantly upset with her, so I guess you have a reason to be, now,” he laughs. “Though I think you two would make a great team if you could just get over yourselves.” He gives her a knowing look. 

“Did you come over here to lecture me about Greene?” the Hufflepuff groans. “You know I respect her. She’s also just an ultra pain in my—”

“Jay!” 

Speaking of, Emma thinks idly, and maybe it’s her friend’s influence, but it’s a bit more good natured than usual. 

“What’s up, kid?” Jules asks, peering up over Emma’s shoulder to look at Alyssa. 

“There’s butterbeer, cider, and dessert in the common room!” the girl calls. “Professor Allen bought it because we won!”

“Brilliant! Be there in a minute!” He throws her a thumbs up. “You ever had a butterbeer or hot cider, Nolan?” he asks. 

“Plan to get the latter in Hogsmeade next week,” Emma tells him. 

“You wanna sneak into the common room and have one with me?” the Slytherin asks. “It’ll be our secret. We can talk about that dive you made. It was pretty epic.” 

Emma’s eyes widen, pleased with herself. Jules always makes her feel so cared for, almost like she imagines having an older brother would feel, almost like family. 

“I’d love that,” she says, feeling the best kind of small under his megawatt grin. “You sure I won’t get into trouble?”

Winking playfully, he shakes his head. “I’ll be sure that you don’t.”

Chapter Text

Emma corners Greg as soon as he walks out of potions class, jumping in front of him and pulling him out of the stream of students exiting the class. “Please tell me you’re going to Hogsmeade today.”

“Nope.” Greg steps around Emma to walk down the hall. “Now leave me alone. I'm going to be late.”

“But you have to go.” So far Emma hasn’t been able to find anyone going, and there are few things more depressing than going to Hogsmeade alone.

“Sorry, but I desperately need the Transfiguration extra credit.” Greg shrugs and tries to walk away again, but Emma once again steps in front of him. This extra credit has been ruining her plans, as it’s the same reason Kevin and Nick can’t go.

“Please? I’ll buy you a chocolate frog,” Emma offers. “I really don’t want to go alone.”

“You could just not go.”

“That is not an option, and you know it,” Of course, the one time Emma has actual business that requires her to go to Hogsmeade, no one can go with.

“Why can’t you just ask Alyssa? She’s good at Transfiguration,” Greg says, like a traitor.

“I’m not asking Greene! That’s embarrassing.” With none of her friends able to go, it would be like a date, and Emma did not want to ask Greene on a date. They would just fight the entire time — hell, they probably wouldn’t even make it into town because they would kill each other on the way there.

“Well, then I guess you just have to suffer.” Greg ducked into one of the secret passages, leaving Emma standing alone in the quickly emptying hallway. She finds it extremely unfair that Greg and Kevin have this extra knowledge about faster ways through the castle that they refuse to tell her, no matter how many times she tries to get the information from them.

“Are you sure you won’t come with me? It’s not like you need extra credit.” Emma groans to herself; speaking of the devil, Greene’s voice echoes down the hallway, rapidly approaching where Greg abandoned her.

“Yeah, but it sounds fun, and this way I get to hang out with people.” Shelby says, as they come around the corner at the end of the hall.

“But I don’t want to go alone,” Greene says, echoing what Emma had told Greg moments before. 

Shelby sighs before she seems to notice Emma loitering in the hall. “Hey! Nolan!” 

“What?” Emma asks, resolutely not laughing at the panicked expression on Greene’s face that quickly turns to annoyance when she sees Emma looking.

“You going to Hogsmeade?” Shelby runs the rest of the way down the hall, pulling Greene along behind her by her robe.

Emma knows exactly where this is going, but also Shelby will probably kill her if she pulls a Greg and disappears into the secret passage that she may or may now know how to enter. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” Shelby shoves Greene from behind, causing her to stumble into Emma’s space. “Congrats. It’s a date.”

“No it’s not!” Emma and Greene say at the same time before exchanging glares at each other.

Shelby rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh. Well, I’ll see you two later.” She turns back the way she came, leaving Emma alone with her rival.

They stand in stilted silence for a few seconds, as Emma tries to decide what to do. Unfortunately, going with Greene is probably the best option. “So…”

“So…” Greene repeats. “I guess we’re going to Hogsmeade.”

“So we are.” Emma sighs.

***

The walk to Hogsmeade is surprisingly pleasant; Alyssa is expecting awkward silence and possible fighting, but instead they manage to strike up a conversation about how much they hate the Transfiguration extra credit.

“How does literally everyone in our grade need extra credit?” Nolan asks, waving her hands in the air. “Like I get the class is hard, but they can’t all be doing that badly! I think this was just a conspiracy so Greg didn’t have to come with me to visit Gran.”

“I know, right? Shelby had the audacity to tell me that she would rather spend four hours turning sneakers into snakes!” Alyssa is surprised to find that she hasn’t stopped smiling and laughing the entire time. 

Maybe Nolan isn’t all bad.

***

“Emma!” Sheldon calls happily from behind the counter. 

“Hi Sheldon!” Emma laughs, leading Greene into Saperstein’s Candy Store. “I’m going to see my gran. I just wanted to grab some candy for her before I go.”

“That sounds like fun,” he says, smiling. “Does Greg need his usual, too?”

“I think he would love that,” the blonde laughs, looking at the way Greene is staring around the shop in awe. She nudges her teasingly. “You never been to Saperstein’s before, Greene?”

Greene shakes her head honestly. “I haven’t. This is brilliant.”

Emma has no time to dwell on why the hell Greene’s never been to the best candy store in town, unsure what overcomes her when she points around the store. “Pick something.”

“I didn’t bring knuts or sickles,” she says, referring to the few galleons she has in her purse to mail something to her mother. 

“I’ll get it for you.” Emma doesn’t know where the words come from. Greene is infuriating. 

Why is she buying her candy? 

“You don’t have to do that, Nolan,” Greene replies. “Besides, then I’ll owe you.”

Emma grins at her playfully. “I’m counting on it.”

“You’re such an ass,” Greene grumbles, refusing to pick something until Sheldon raises his hand. 

“On the house for you, Ms. Greene,” he says softly. “You’re Danny’s little girl, aren’t you?”

Greene softens immediately. She nods. “I am.” 

“On the house, then. Here—” he hands her a bag— “fill that thing to the brim.” He pauses for a moment before another thought hits him. “And don’t tell your mother.”

Greene laughs. “Thank you, Mr. Saperstein.”

“Your father was a good man,” he replies, as if that explains everything. 

“Thank you,” the girl says quietly, bottom lip suddenly quivering. 

Turning to her, Emma wants to ask if she’s okay, but Sheldon shoos her off before she can get the chance, and then, he glares at the blonde jokingly with a sort of knowing expression.  

“Just say you like her,” he teases. 

Emma gapes. “I don’t like her! I hate her!” she grumbles. “Why are you giving her free candy?”

Sheldon laughs, but he doesn’t answer the question. “Us queers know this shit, kid. You’ll see I’m right.” 

Emma resolves in this moment that she’s never ever going to prove Sheldon Saperstein right on this particular point. 

***

“How does he know English?” Alyssa looks up from her notes, unsurprised to find Shelby in the Slytherin common room.

“What?” Kaylee asks, turning to her friend.

“Royce. How does he know English?” Shelby pulls a chair up to their table, and Alyssa closes her books in defeat. She’s been friends with Shelby long enough to know that when she has a line of questioning, Alyssa’s own curiosity will make her pay attention regardless of what she’s working on.

“I mean… How do you know English?” Kaylee asks in return.

“I was raised in a bilingual household. Speaking of, is it only English he knows?”

Royce hisses something out from around Kaylee’s neck, and she pets his head.

“Royce would like to speak for himself. Specifically, I’m right here, you know, ” Kaylee translates.

Shelby turns to Alyssa for help, but she just shrugs. “I only ever hear Kaylee’s side of their conversations.”

“You’re no help. Fine,” She sighs, turning to the snake. “Royce, hi. How do you know English?”

There’s a pause, then Royce answers, with Kaylee’s translations, “ Not sure. But I do. ”

“Thanks. I hate that answer,” Shelby replies. “Second question: do you understand any other human languages, or is it only English?”

Royce pauses, tilting his head to the side like a dog. “ What’s that thing you humans do? Shrug? I feel like shrugging to answer this. ”

“¿Cuántos años tienes?” Shelby shoots off quickly, in a language that Alyssa can assume is Spanish. She’s not sure what each word means separately, but Shelby told her last year that it just means how old are you , so she gathers that Shelby picked that question to see if he understood the other language or not.

Royce pulls his head back a little, hissing out an answer in a way that Alyssa would like to call uncertain.

“Okay, okay, wait.” Kaylee giggles. “This is what he said, inflection for inflection. Ooh, London?”

Alyssa bursts into laughter along with Kaylee, who lets Royce slither off of her in annoyance. As she calms down, she even notices Shelby laughing a little, too.

“Okay, so you don’t speak Spanish,” Shelby says with a smirk.

Royce hisses something out that Alyssa doesn’t need translated, and she can’t help but laugh.

***

Emma wraps her cloak tighter, tucking her nose into her scarf until her glasses are fogged. “Are you sure we should do this?”

Greg, similarly cold, nods. “He’s hiding something, Em. He never hides stuff from us.”

“Okay,” she concedes. “But why out here? It’s freezing.”

“It’s also secluded, with no chance of someone overhearing,” Greg explains. “If he’s scared, he won’t have to worry about being overheard here.” Emma looks around: a courtyard in a far corner of Hogwarts in the middle of January. Greg’s right. no one would willingly be out here. She’s still not convinced that they even have to do this, and it must show, because her cousin sighs. “Look, Kevin told me that the staircase almost didn’t let him up to their dorm the other night.”

“What?” Emma may not know much about the other houses’ common room and dorm formats, but why would there be more stairs on the way from the common room to the dorm, and why wouldn’t they let people up them?

Before Greg can keep going, she hears voices from behind them. “Kev, the pitch is the other direction? As are our brooms, I don’t—” Nick stops talking as he and Kevin enter the courtyard, spotting their friends. “Oh, hey guys. What’s up?”

Emma gives Greg an expectant look, clearly telling him, this was your idea. Take the lead.  

Greg takes a deep breath, stepping forward. “Nick, you’re not telling us something. You’ve been the epitome of the Gryffindor stereotype for two years, then suddenly you’re nothing like it! You’ve stopped joking; you haven’t made a stupid dare in over three months, and you haven’t been to the hospital wing since — actually, that’s a good thing,” Greg reconsiders. “Still, something had to start this.”

“You’ve been skipping meals,” Kevin adds, clearly concerned. Nick is staring resolutely at his shoes, doing something that Emma recognizes as a breathing exercise. “You flinch at weird words. Nick, we’re your friends.”

Emma feels the need to speak, taking a step towards the Gryffindor. “If you can’t tell us, we’ll understand. We just care about you.”

Nick looks up, taking the time to make eye contact with everyone. “I know that you guys deserve an explanation, but… I can’t tell you yet.” 

Emma nods, speaking before Greg can. “And we respect that. If you ever feel ready… we’re here.”

Nick offers a smile. “Thanks, Em.”

***

Two weeks later, Nick sits down next to Emma in the library. She’s given him space, ever since that night. She has theories, of course, but knows better than to assume any of them are correct until Nick tells her himself.

“I don’t think I’m a boy.”

Like that.

Emma immediately puts her quill down and turns to her friend, nodding. “Okay. Is there a new name you want me to call you, different pronouns?”

“Nick is fine,” Nick responds, very clearly surprised. “And… I wanted to try he/they pronouns — why are you so okay with this?”

Emma looks them dead in the eye and raises her wrist, revealing the lesbian-flag colored friendship bracelet that Greg made her last week instead of doing his Potions homework.

Nick rolls his eyes. “Right, forgot. Sorry.” They pause, and Emma stays silent, feeling like they have more to say, even if it’s not specifically for her understanding. “I think… I think I leaned so hard into the stereotype because I didn’t feel like I deserved to be in Gryffindor. But… it’s just not me. I’d rather be happy as myself than unhappy as who everyone thinks I should be.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Emma jokes, earning a jab to the ribs and a smile. “Seriously, though, thanks for telling me,” Emma continues. “Living as yourself, despite the consequences, takes bravery, Nick.” She recalls her father’s reaction to finding out her first kiss, her mother’s silence on the issue, but returns to the moment swiftly. “And I hope you know that that night was not my idea. I need to talk to Greg about boundaries.”

“No, no.” Nick waves their arms. “I think I needed the push. And, yeah, it sucked to be put on the spot like that, but I might not have told you until, like, we were on the train home, y’know?”

“Oh my God, just imagine,” Emma laughs, pitching her voice down to imitate her friend. “‘Good joke, Kev, see you next year! By the way I’m non-binary; have a good break!’ He’d never leave the train if you dropped it on him like that.”

Nick laughs too, earning some shushes from around them. “Hey, are you at a good stopping point?” he asks at a lower volume. “My plan was to wander the castle and tell y’all as I found you.”

Emma is very much not at a good stopping point, but she closes her textbooks and starts gathering her stuff anyway, nodding. “Kevin’s probably eating, but Greg’s gonna be a manhunt. Let’s try the Great Hall first.”

“If you guys were looking for me, I think I’d prefer you call it an enbyhunt,” Nick muses as they stand up. “I was also thinking about trying to paint my nails. Would you be able to help, or is Greg a safer bet to ask for that?”

“Greg,” Emma answers immediately. “You can ask him when we find him.”

Chapter Text

Shelby usually loves her friends.

Usually does not apply when said friends wake her up at one in the morning.

“Psst, Shelby! Wake up!” Kaylee says, poking Shelby in the chest from where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. When Shelby doesn’t respond, still holding onto hope that this is a dream and she isn’t about to be forced out of bed in the middle of the night before a Charms exam, Kaylee stands up and Shelby has just a few seconds to thank the sleep gods before her blanket goes flying off her bed.

“Ughhhh.” Shelby sits up enough to glare at Kaylee, who looks smug, and Alyssa, who looks vaguely apologetic. “What on Earth do you want?”

Kaylee and Alyssa exchange a look and Shelby braces herself for the batshit idea that’s probably about to come out of their mouths. “Well…” Alyssa begins, a smile teasing at her lips.

“We want to see who’s a better chaser,” Kaylee says, bouncing on her toes. She looks way too awake for the middle of the night.

Shelby takes a second to process the words, and she blatantly realizes that both Kaylee and Alyssa are wearing actual clothes instead of pajamas. Quidditch clothes to be precise. “I hate you, and I’m going back to sleep.”

“Shelby,” Kaylee whines out her name, grabbing Shelby by the arm and stopping her from pulling the pillow over her head. “We need you.”

“No, you do not!” Shelby says, before realizing that her roommates are still asleep. Wait. “How did you even get in here?”

“I may or may not have solved the riddle,” Alyssa says. Shelby remembers first year, when she had first seen Alyssa and thought that the other girl looked responsible and like someone who would never drag her best friend from another house out of bed in the middle of the night. She was, apparently, very wrong.

“So you’re telling me that you broke into the Ravenclaw dorms, woke me up at one in the morning on a night that I actually decided to sleep -- the night before we all have a test, by the way — and now you want me to watch you sportsball?”

Alyssa and Kaylee stare at her with a mix of confusion and pride, as if this is a fantastic idea and Shelby will agree to join them in a few minutes. Alyssa speaks first. “We need you to be the judge,” she says, as if that is a normal thing to ask.

“Also you’re better at unlocking charms,” Kaylee says under her breath. Right. Because its one in the fucking morning, so they will have to break into the quidditch pitch.

“I hate you,” Shelby repeats. Unfortunately, she’s already rolling out of bed and grabbing her wand off the nightstand. “Let me get some clothes on.”

Alyssa and Kaylee cheer before Shelby glares at them and gestures to her sleeping roommates — how they’re still asleep, Shelby has no idea. Kaylee and Alyssa tone it down to a soft whisper, fist bumping softly.

The idea doesn’t get any better once Shelby has actual clothes on, but with her best friends egging her on and a healthy amount of adrenaline running through her veins they sneak out of the castle, dodging behind pillars and into corners whenever they see someone coming. Shelby makes quick work of the door to the locker room, then to the quidditch pitch. She doesn’t have the same fondness for wizarding sports that her friends do, but even she can admit that it’s a beautiful night.

“So, are you just going to play in the dark?” Shelby asks conversationally, watching her friends suit up.

“It’s not that dark,” Kaylee says, looking to the nearly full moon.

“By that, she means we don’t want to risk turning any lights on,” Alyssa stage whispers, causing Kaylee to reach over and slap her shoulder.

“There are lights in this stadium?” Shelby whispers, looking around. How would that even work? Is it a centralized startup spell, or—

“Okay,” Kaylee interrupts her thoughts. She isn’t whispering and her voice echoes in the empty stadium. “Let’s play some quidditch!”

As her friends take to the sky, Shelby settles herself onto one of the benches set out on the edge of the field. It would be a whole other step to break into the stands, so Shelby’s good on the ground. 

Alyssa is holding a quaffle taken from the locker room. She circles a bit before stopping at a point over Shelby’s head. “You ready?”

“You realize I have a non-existent understanding of how to play quidditch!” Shelby has been to a few games since her friends made the team, but going to a game and paying attention to a game are very different things.

“Just keep track of who looks cooler!” Kaylee calls, doing a fancy spin thing on her broom before facing off with Alyssa.

Shelby holds back from telling them that Kaylee would always win that competition, and instead resolves to just count goals.

Above her, someone whistles, and then her friends are off chasing— if she was more awake, she’d make a pun about why that’s funny— each other down the pitch. They reach the other end and Alyssa tosses the ball full speed at the center hoop, only for Kaylee to intercept it before it can go through. They turn back the other way and Shelby zones out a bit, her attention on the stars and the occasional yelling or trash talking that makes its way all the way down to where she sits. 

In the morning she’s going to be exhausted, but it’s worth it.

By three o’clock, Shelby has no idea how her friends are still playing, but she does catch a snippet of conversation. 

“How’d you learn to do that, anyway?” Kaylee calls when Alyssa smacks the quaffle through the hoop with the tail of her broom. 

“Saw my dad do it in a photo,” the girl replies; there’s a tightness in her voice. Shelby still doesn’t really know what happened to her friend’s father, no more than that he’s been missing and presumed dead for almost six years. She means to ask, but it’s never felt like the right time. “I had my aunt help me practice.” 

“I’ll never get over the fact that you call Professor Dickinson your aunt,” Kaylee groans good naturedly. “I wish my aunts were that cool. They’re all just jerks.” 

“They should get a good education, then,” Shelby calls from the bleachers. 

“I agree,” Kaylee agrees loudly. “Only problem is that they don’t listen. Just because you’ve converted me into being a good person doesn’t mean that they’re easily swayed.” 

“You’re a good person?” Alyssa teases, laughing louder when her friend throws the quaffle directly at her and it hits her square in the stomach. 

***

“Can anybody tell me where Mr. Thatcher’s mistake is?” Professor Allen asks, head tilted to the side as she reads Marcus’ formula on the board. 

They’re in last period double Potions, a bit of an annoying endeavor, when the smell of food has begun to waft through the castle and several third years have free periods and seem to be chattering it up in the hallway. 

Still, times like this when Professor Allen seems to have finally snapped due to a student’s insufferable antics are occasions to behold. 

Shelby’s hand shoots up into the air. “It should be three-quarters of a beetle, not half.” 

“Correct! Fifteen points to Ravenclaw,” Professor Allen declares. 

Marcus glares daggers at Shelby, opening his mouth to say something, but the professor cuts him off before he can. 

“And there’s something else. Mr. Thatcher, do you know what that is?” 

The Gryffindor sits at a loss for words, staring at his work. “Looks good to me,” he snarks, sitting back in the chair and putting his hands behind his head, taking up as much space as he can. 

His cronies snicker. 

Kevin and Nick are at the table next to her; they have nothing to say, knowing that if they antagonize the boy then he’ll just come after them later in the common room. 

Allen, however, has none of it. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“What?!” Marcus cries. 

“For disrespect,” the professor clarifies, much to the quiet enjoyment of several other students who have been subject to Thatcher and his friends’ bullying. “Now, can anybody tell me what’s the other problem with Mr. Thatcher’s formula on the board?” 

Shelby’s eyes scan the board, and she raises her hand again. 

“Gonzales?” Professor Allen points to her. 

She reads from her notes. “It’s stir clockwise twice, and then counterclockwise, not the other way around.” 

“Very good. Ten more points to Ravenclaw.” 

Shelby smiles, cheeks tinging pink a little with pride as Professor Allen eyes fix on her with a pleased look. 

Marcus mutters something under his breath, his eyes widening when the teacher rounds on him again, sitting up straight in his chair. He stays quiet the rest of class, and Shelby counts that as a win.

***

The win is extremely short lived.

It’s not anything that Shelby isn’t used to: the looks from the more well-known families, the side-eye when they realize she’s a better student than all of them combined. 

It stopped bothering her a long time ago. 

Or so she thought. 

She smiles as Kaylee lies in her lap, reading some book on quidditch that she’s never heard of. 

“Y’know, if you just applied yourself the way you apply yourself to quidditch, you’d be giving us all a run for our money for top of the class,” she laughs, picking up the words beater and dodge from the manual. 

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” Kaylee laughs, turning the page. 

Shelby smiles in return, heart sinking slightly when she sees Thatcher and his friends wander into the courtyard, all gross smugness and misplaced arrogance. 

Rolling her eyes, she tunes him out as best she can, returning to her own book, this one a history of Charms innovation throughout the ages. It’s not anything out of the ordinary on the surface but Mister Dilella, the librarian, had recommended it to her, and it’s so far been one of the most interesting reads of the semester. 

Where charms and transfiguration began to differ on paper, you see—

“I’ll never understand it,” Marcus says too loudly to be innocent. It pulls Shelby from her book, and Kaylee sits up too. 

“Never understand what?” one of his friends asks, clearly lacking in brain cells from the way he’s currently holding his wand in his back pocket and is about to sit on it. 

“How Klein and Gonzales can be friends!” Thatcher replies simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Shelby’s back straightens. Her ears go hot. She knows she’s different than her friends— after all, Alyssa, despite being a halfblood, is the daughter of a decorated auror and a worker in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry, and Kaylee’s family is as pureblood as they come— but nobody usually has the audacity nor prejudice to mention it in such plain terms. 

Over her time at Hogwarts, she’s heard whispers of ever-present bigotry, of the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and his followers. The First Stand failed to stop him. The Second Stand tracked him down, but they failed to finish the job; the death eaters’ numbers only grew. 

Members of the Third Stand were never seen again. 

The Fourth Stand was a poor attempt at best, a tiny flicker of hope that died quicker than flame on water. 

These repeated attempts did, however, make He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named go into hiding in 2001. Shelby is just grateful she didn’t have to grow up in a world that he ruled.

Still, though, his mark lasts, and word says that the wizard still quietly recruits people like the Thatchers, like the more sour members of her best friend’s family who believe that only certain kinds should have access to magic. 

It was in one of the books she’d read in the library, one that, now that she comes to think of it, Mister Dilella must have taken off the shelf, because she hasn’t seen it since. The book said it was only a matter of time until things changed, until a proper stand rose, or the world fell into darkness and magical education became reserved only for the few. 

There will always be terrors. It is our choice, though, if we accept them lying down, if we allow those with the darkest of demons and intentions to rule our world or if we do something. I can only pray that we choose the latter. 

For some reason, the passage stuck with her, lives in her near-perfect memory whenever she hears a comment about muggleborns like herself. 

The way she’ll get to the top is by this education she’s being given, by the knowledge she can procure while within the walls of Hogwarts. It doesn’t bother her what people say. It doesn’t— 

“A nice, proper girl like Amanda Kaylee Klein, and a mudblood like Gonzales—”

Shelby flinches despite her internal voice. She swallows, knowing Kaylee felt her move, but her whole world stops when her best friend suddenly pulls her head out of her lap and is swinging herself off the bench before she can grab her. 

“Kaylee!” she yelps, reaching for the Slytherin’s hand, but it’s too late. 

“Thatcher!” There’s practically steam coming out of Kaylee’s ears. “You take your words back right now.” 

“Klein! Come to see the show?” he asks, gesturing to himself and the tiny quidditch players flying around on a mini board. 

“You’re a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!” Kaylee hisses, and it’s almost like she’s speaking parseltongue. She’s so venomous. 

“I was just talking about you! You must have heard,” Marcus laughs, snark evident in every syllable. “Oh, and your mudblood friend—”

Shelby flinches again, watching in horror, now, as he stands up, as Kaylee doesn’t back down, as—

She hears it before she can really process what happened. A crack. A howl of pain. 

“Never say that word again,” Kaylee demands; it doesn’t even seem like her hand hurts. It does, however, seem like Kaylee Klein has a mean left hook. 

***

“You punched him?” Alyssa cries when Shelby and Kaylee meet her at dinner thirty minutes later than usual. 

“I did,” Kaylee answers, a little too proud of herself. “A week of detention, but it was worth it.”

“What even happened?” her friend asks, looking at Shelby, who, for once, doesn’t seem keen to give an answer. 

“Marcus is an asshole is what happened,” Kaylee fills in. “He said something—”

“He called me a mudblood,” Shelby interrupts, looking down. “And Kaylee punched him for it.” 

Alyssa’s eyes widen, fire and concern both equally evident as soon as she registers what she’s just been told. “He what?!” 

Kaylee nods. “It was awful. I called him a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach.” 

“As you should,” her friend nods. “And did Marcus get into any trouble?” Shelby and Kaylee both shake their heads, and Alyssa groans. “You know what that is? Nepotism.”

Trying to crack a smile, Kaylee echoes herself from the train before all of this, when they were just turning thirteen and idiots like Marcus Thatcher stayed in the farthest lane from them. 

“I know the word.” 

***

Shelby is halfway through her pudding when a letter comes rushing through the open window and down next to Kaylee’s plate. 

It’s rather odd; mail never comes in at dinner, only at breakfast, and her concern only grows when she watches the way that her best friend’s face goes pale. When she looks at Alyssa, there’s a similar unease about her expression. 

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing to the envelope, which is red and almost vibrating, though Shelby is sure that she’s imagining it. 

Kaylee swallows hard. “It—”

Alyssa winces. “It looks to be a Howler.” 

As if on cue, the paper wriggles to life, tearing the flap of the envelope free from the seal without any help. Eyes take shape, and they glare daggers and their addressee. 

“Amanda Klein!” it screeches, and Kaylee is only glad that they arrived to dinner late, so there are few left aside from teachers and prefects who will keep their mouths shut. She shrinks back from the paper, which is shredding slightly at every word. “You punched the Thatcher boy?!” 

She nods, eyes wide with fear and heart beating out of her ears. It’s not that she cares what her parents think, but she is terribly and inconveniently afraid of them. Despite their prejudice, despite their issues, they are her parents. She hates them, and yet—

“We are so very disappointed in you!” the envelope continues to scream, echoing through the hall while Kaylee descends further in her seat. Saltiness clogs the back of her throat at the reprimand. She looks down. “Who do you think you are?! And to think we believed him a good match—”

Kaylee’s eyes shoot up at the words, and her face grows red hot as she tries to comprehend what she’s just been told. For a moment, there’s pregnant silence, crackling with electricity, heat and barely concealed vermin, before the girl gathers herself and searches for her words, clearly trying to remain calm but to no avail, when her voice explodes from her chest. 

“Excuse me?!” she cries. “WHAT?!” She presses her lips together, but it’s too late. 

The Howler trembles, fuming just as her mother does back at home when she disproves of something. “You dare speak back—”

Suddenly, Kaylee’s had enough. It’s evident to anybody watching the scene unfold, and when the Slytherin pulls her wand from her pocket, muttering a silencing charm she’s never in her life gotten right before tonight, there’s an air of satisfaction throughout the hall. 

Kaylee herself watches with pleasure as the envelope gapes, searching for more words, but all it can do is quiver in the air, screaming without voice. 

Quick as a snap, the paper rips itself to shreds now that it can no longer fulfill its purpose, and Shelby and Alyssa both look on with joy. 

Kaylee shrugs at them, cocking her head to the side. “What? Fuck them and their values.” 

Her friends’ eyes light up with further glee, the glimmer only describable with one word: pride.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Em.”

Emma nearly jumps out of her skin when Kevin’s hand touches her shoulder. She had nearly been asleep thanks to the single most boring Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture she has ever been forced to sit through. Professor Dickinson has been going on for what feels like hours about proper wand shape and movement; realistically it’s probably pretty important information that Emma will regret not having as soon as she's casting a jelly-legs jinx and it bounces back to hit her in the face, but no matter how many times she tells that to her attention span she still finds herself zoning out and falling asleep. 

“What?” she whispers under her breath, careful not to alert the professor.

Kevin grins wickedly and points at the front of the room. “I dare you to steal Professor Dickinson’s inkpot—” he pauses for dramatic effect. “—Without getting in trouble.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Why on Earth would I do that?” Even she’s not dumb enough to try to sneak something past Professor Dickinson, even if the woman in question is looking just as bored by her own lecture as Emma feels.

“Because I dared you!” Kevin exclaims, a little louder than necessary. The students at surrounding tables shoot him a look, but Professor Dickinson remains oblivious, breaking down the specific differences between a half circle and a crescent wand flick.

“That doesn’t work when the person you dare is over the age of twelve,” Emma says, despite the fact that a part of her is already itching to take Kevin’s challenge. Without meaning to, her mind begins plotting ideas of how to get to Professor Dickinson’s desk unnoticed.

“Oh, so you’re scared,” Kevin sing-songs, poking Emma on the nose and dodging her hand when she tries to smack him in the shoulder. “Fine. If you do it, I’ll give you my dessert for a week.”

Emma weighs Kevin’s offer against the potential detention she could receive if she gets caught. “Not worth it.”

“Fine.” Kevin pouts for a second, clearly trying to come up with a new offer. “Dessert for two weeks, and I’ll help you pull off that prank against Alyssa that you think I don’t know about.”

“What— How did—” Emma groans; now she has to do it. It would be worth it to get some help with her prank: making it so that a random portion of her shoes are a size too small, and the other portion will squeak every time Alyssa takes a step, and — judging by the wicked smile on Kevin’s face — if she doesn’t do it, he’ll tell Greg, who will immediately shut down the whole prank because he’s boring. “Fine. How much time do I have?”

Kevin looks incredibly smug. Emma wants to punch him. “Until class ends.”

Emma glances at the clock. Luckily, she has a bit of time since the class period has only been dragging on for 20 minutes.

Hell. This is hell. How is there another 40 minutes of class?

At the front of the room, Professor Dickinson looks exactly as bored as Emma feels, though unfortunately it hasn’t made her any less frightening and Emma is already dreading the idea of getting caught. The clearest path to the desk would be down the aisle, but that would involve going past everyone else in the class, a surefire way to get caught, not even bringing into question how she’s going to keep Professor Dickinson from noticing when Emma disappears from her assigned seat.

“Well…” Kevin says annoyingly. “You only have—” He looks at the clock dramatically and swings back around to stare at her— “thirty-nine minutes and fifty seconds.” When Emma doesn’t respond he continues counting down. “Forty-nine seconds, forty-eight seconds, forty-seven seconds, forty-six—”

“Shut up.” Emma attempts to shove her quill in Kevin’s ear, but he dodges. “This is hard.”

“Coward.”

Emma rolls her eyes and decides to ignore Kevin. 

The next time Professor Dickinson turns to the board in order to draw yet another diagram, Emma acts. She quickly jumps onto her chair and points her wand at the inkpot from across the room. In the quietest spell casting voice she can muster she whisper-yells, “ Accio inkpot! ”

It’s truly a foolproof plan.

Except also it isn’t.

On its way off of the desk, the inkpot knocks over, in order: an unlit candle, a cup full of quills, a pile of books, and nearly takes off Nick’s head. On top of that, Emma quickly discovers that the inkpot did not have a lid on it, so while it is flying at its incredibly destructive thirty miles per hour course for Emma’s hand, it is also dumping a truly unheard of amount of ink in a line across the classroom and on the heads of everyone unfortunate enough to be sitting between Emma and the inkpot’s starting position.

Emma only has one thought as Professor Dickinson turns back around, looking incredibly amused as she takes in the chaos taking place in her class,

Greene can never find out about this.

***

“Should we talk to her?” Kaylee whispers to Shelby, watching as Alyssa idly pushes food around her plate. 

This always happens on the same day of the year: April Eighth. 

No matter what’s happening, or how happy Alyssa was the day before, without fail, it always pushes their friend into a mood so gloomy second year Kaylee swore she could see rain clouds gathering above Alyssa’s head, which then sends her into an inevitable tailspin where she ends up yelling, crying, or, more often than not, doing both at the same time. 

“I feel like it would be pushing,” Shelby murmurs in response. 

“Maybe she needs a push,” the Slytherin replies. “Like how I needed a push. To get over my bigotry.”

“That’s a very smart word you’re using,” her friend teases, hissing in playful pain when she feels a kick against her shin. 

“I just didn’t know,” Kaylee reminds. “But then I realized that you’re much better at all this studying and magic shit than I’ll ever be.” She nudges her. “And I’m okay with that. I, however, have a sense about people, and my people senses say that we need to help her before she decides she wants to push us away again.”

“If she bites our heads off, I’m blaming you,” Shelby mumbles, but she’s clearly in agreement. 

With their resolve set, they both slide over on the bench. 

“Alyssa?” Kaylee starts, trying to get her attention. 

“What’s wrong?” the voice next to her adds, concern evident. 

“Why would anything be wrong?” Alyssa answers, but her tone is flat. 

“Well, you’ve been—” Shelby begins, but Kaylee puts a hand on her arm, as if to say I got this. 

“You haven’t been mean to me yet about my homework,” the Slytherin replies to the question instead, trying to break some of the tension with her signature sense of humor. “Aren’t you going to tell me I need to study instead of playing Exploding Snap?”

“You need to study instead of playing Exploding Snap,” Alyssa parrots back, though her heart isn’t in it. “School is important, Kay.” She pushes her potatoes around the plate, and finally, Shelby snaps. 

“Okay, Alyssa.” She isn’t harsh, only firm, caring. She pulls her plate away, too, which makes her friend look up at her. “Whatever the heck is going on here, you need to talk to us. We’re your friends. So what’s up? Tell us.” 

“And if I say I’m fine?” Alyssa asks, but her eyes are watery. 

“We won’t believe you,” Kaylee answers. “Shelby’s right. We’re friends.” 

Alyssa sighs; her fingers tap on the table, tracing the grain of wood. Her breath hitches around a silent couple of tears. “It’s my dad’s birthday,” she finally mumbles, voice quivering. “It’s the sixth one—” her voice cracks— “It’s the sixth one since he went missing.” 

“Oh,” both of her friends say at the same time. They look between each other, not sure what to say. 

“I miss him,” Alyssa suddenly chokes out. “I miss him a lot. Which is stupid, since I don’t remember him all that much—” 

“It’s not stupid,” they insist together, simultaneously. 

“I want him to come home,” she continues; it surprises both Kaylee and Shelby. Alyssa’s never talked this much about her father. “Which is stupid too, since everybody thinks he’s dead! My dad’s gone, and I’m twelve! Can you believe that?” She laughs humorlessly, wiping snot from her nose. “God, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” Shelby murmurs quickly. “We’re glad you feel safe enough to tell us what’s going on.” 

Kaylee nods in agreement, before adding, “What can we do?” 

Alyssa shrugs, smiling watery and a little broken. “I could use a hug?” 

Her friends practically jump over the table, engulfing her until she trembles harder, burying her face in Shelby’s shoulder as Kaylee hugs her from the other side. 

“We’ve got you,” they both whisper, squeezing her tight. 

Alyssa nods, feeling loved, known, a little more, now that her friends know why she’s hurting. 

Surprisingly, it makes her heart ache a little less. She smiles in gentle relief, taking a breath, feeling like her lungs are filling for the first time all day. 

***

Alyssa knocks lightly on the door as she walks into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, alerting a few creatures in the corner as they chitter in their cage. “Professor?”

“Alyssa.” She jumps as the voice reaches her ears from behind. “How many times have I said to call me Aunt Angie when we’re alone?”

“Sorry,” she apologizes, turning around to see Angie smiling behind her, holding a tray. “School mode overrides any familiarity I have with you and Uncle Barry when we’re here. What’s dinner?”

“Not sure, but it smells delicious,” Angie enters the room, flicking a few fingers and pulling some desks together for a makeshift table with a nonverbal spell. “I asked the kitchen to surprise us tonight.”

Alyssa follows her, sitting down quickly as the tray is set down and Angie pulls the cover off, revealing a meal that makes her breath hitch and her heart skip a beat.

“Shepherd’s pie,” Angie says with a dry chuckle. “I guess they remember what today is, too.”

Alyssa looks up from the food, promptly changing the subject. “Is Uncle Barry joining us this year?”

Angie shakes her head, busying her hands with serving them. “He’s visiting your mom.”

“Probably having the same meal,” Alyssa tries to joke, but they both fall silent. “I miss him,” she says softly after a while. They both know she isn’t talking about Barry anymore.

“Me too, kid,” Angie says at the same volume. She recognizes the pain in her voice, and Alyssa reaches over and grabs her hand, giving her aunt by choice a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s enjoy the meal for him, okay?”

Alyssa nods, looking away and staring out of the window for a moment. The trees are budding, gaining new leaves every day as spring grows in strength and April continues. She squints as something catches her eye, nestled into the branches of a blossoming tree — a familiar bird, a falcon that seems to haunt her.

“Alyssa?” She blinks, snapping her head back to Angie. “What’s up?”

“I—” She turns back to the window, but whatever she saw is gone. “Nothing.” She shakes her head, grabbing her glass. She lifts it in a toast. “For Dad. Happy birthday, wherever and however you are.” She wants to say that he’s coming back, one day. She wants to hope that he’s still out there, but with every year that passes, she finds that she can’t hold onto the hope that her mom does as well as she used to. But he promised, even if she can’t quite remember his voice anymore, so she adds the last part just like she did last year and the year before that.

Angie copies her. “Happy birthday, Danny.”

***

Darkness impedes all of his senses as he tries to keep his head down among the other death eaters. It’s impossible to know what time it is, where they are, but he’d sworn an oath, so here he shall stay until the war is won. 

He doesn’t have many friends, and he almost wishes Stripes were here, despite the fact that the man was nothing but trouble for him, someone he’d had to look out for anytime their superior decided to actually pay attention to what they were doing. Honestly, this whole damn thing is Stripes’ fault. 

The man didn’t have an upstanding bone in his body, never cared about his child, never cared about making the world better like their side has always been striving to. 

God, what he’d do now to punch that fucker in the face. 

After all, that’s how he ended up here: in a sewer, surrounded by his fellow death eaters, waiting out another attack instead of helping , instead of actually being able to act on the vows he made so long ago. 

Chapter Text

“Are we ever going to get our own compartment?” Emma complains, once again trekking the train hallway with her friends in tow.

“Should I cut my hair into a mullet?” Nick asks, completely ignoring Emma’s complaint. He’s been growing his hair out since April or so, and it’s long enough now that they prefer to keep it out of their face in a ponytail. “Is that fashionable?”

“Mullets weren’t fashionable when they were trendy,” Greg shuts down Nick’s idea.

“I thought a mullet is a way to eat fish?” Kevin asks.

Nick squints at him. “That’s a filet.”

Emma pouts. If her friends are just going to ignore her, why complain?

“Cheer up, Em,” Greg consoles, “We can probably sit with Shelby and her friends again.”

“With Greene? No, thanks,” Emma shakes her head.

“It’ll be fine,” Greg insists. “Shelby and I are friends now, so it’ll be less awkward than last year. Besides, it’ll give Kevin an excuse to hang out with his crush.”

“Greg!” Kevin complains, cheeks tinting red. “You said that was a secret!”

“A secret that we all already know,” Nick points out. “I don’t even care if we have to deal with Emma and Greene’s situation. I just want to sit down.”

Greg randomly picks a compartment door to try, opening it to reveal exactly who they were talking about. “Perfect timing,” Greg exclaims. “Hey, Shelby, Kaylee, Alyssa. Mind if we sit with you guys again?”

“You guys are really bad at finding seats, huh?” Shelby teases, shuffling over to sit in the corner. “Come on in.”

“Blame Emma,” Greg mock-complains as Nick and Kevin climb into the compartment and Nick shoves Kevin into the seat next to Shelby. “She always has to give our Nan just one last hug; it won’t even take that long,” he mimics his cousin, and she punches his shoulder as she makes her way into the compartment and sits next to Kaylee. 

Once she’s situated, she pulls Nugget out from under her coat. He’s been having a little trouble with traveling, so she elected to pack his cage and carry him on the train ride this year.

Kaylee’s shirt moves, and oh, yeah, she has a snake . As Kaylee’s snake — Rice? Reese? — slithers out into the open and Greg half-sits, half-falls-in-fear onto the ground for the ride, Emma hugs her frog to her chest. “No, put him away.”

“I was here first,” Kaylee defends. “You were fine with Royce last year, put your frog away.”

“Nugget’s developed trainsickness,” Emma explains, “So he can’t sit in his cage on train rides anymore. What if your snake eats him?”

“Royce ate last week!” Kaylee exclaims. “He won’t need to eat for another three. Besides, Nugget is too big for him to eat, anyways.”

Emma narrows her eyes at the pair before giving Royce the I’m watching you symbol. “Fine.”

“Oh, to have a pet,” Greg bemoans, and Emma kicks him. “Ow! That’s the second time you’ve hit me! Why are you so mean to me?!”

“You’re the one sitting on the ground,” Shelby points out.

“That’s not an invitation to kick me,” Greg objects.

Everyone else in the compartment very quickly decides that yes, it is an invitation to kick him as they all gently nudge and push him with their feet. While Greg pouts in faux disappointment and everyone laughs, Emma almost forgets that the only thing between a certain Slytherin is another certain Slytherin and her snake.

Almost.

***

“Anyone else feel shorted at the amount of Slys in this year’s sorting?” Nick asks around a mouthful of chicken. “‘Cause there were like, thirty of ‘em.”

“Puffs got a decent number,” Greg says. “As did Gryff.”

“Looks like the Claws got shorted,” Emma muses. “If anyone did.”

“Oh, who cares about them?” Nick says.

“We like Shelby,” Greg and Kevin point out at the same time. Greg reaches over the house divide to high-five his friend.

Emma spins back around on her bench to face her plate, scooping another serving of potatoes for herself. During meals — and especially during the Opening Feast — it’s required that every house sits at their table and eats together. If someone has friends in other houses, it’s common practice to sit on the inside bench and talk to them turned away from your house table. With the way the tables are organized — from the Great Hall’s doors and left to right it’s Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, then Gryffindor — if a Gryffindor has Ravenclaw or Slytherin friends, it’s difficult to talk during meal time. 

Of course, that rule only really applies to underclassmen. It’s an unspoken change, really, but most everyone agrees that you have to sit with your house during meals only up to the winter break of your fifth year. After that, other than Opening Feasts, you’re free to sit at any table without repercussion.

“Okay,” Nick groans, pulling Emma back to the present. “We like one person from Ravenclaw.”

“What about Noah Winchester?” Emma asks, spinning back around to her friends, pointing at the boy who’s making lively conversation with a new first year. “Or Jess Monae. They’re both Claws, and we like them from quidditch.”

Nick narrows their eyes. “Fine. Three Claws.”

“There’s also Professor Glickman,” Greg lists, holding up his fingers to count. “And Headmaster Hawkins, and—”

“Fine!” Nick gives up. “We like Ravenclaw.”

“Incredibly hypocritical of you to dislike the book house when you’re actively trying not to fall into the Gryff stereotypes, Nick,” Emma teases.

Kevin frowns, slurping up another mouthful of noodles. “Do I fall into that stereotype?”

“Not enough to be a jerk,” Greg assures. “You’re like… all the good Gryff things.” 

“Yeah,” Emma agrees. “And besides, as long as you’re not Thatcher, you’re fine.”

They all grimace at the thought of their least favorite classmate. All four of them can hear him roaring raucously from the other side of the table, and it makes them lose some of their appetite. 

“Please don’t be Thatcher,” Nick begs, glaring at the boy silently. “I’m not out to him yet, but I just know he’s a bigot.”

“He’s already racist,” Emma points out. “In the muggle and mage definition.”

“He’s said the f-slur to me,” Greg mutters. “I didn’t even know he cared enough about muggles to know the f-slur.”

“Can’t hate what you don’t know the slurs for,” Kevin jokes darkly.

Greg turns back to the Hufflepuff table, but spins back around just as quickly. “Out of carrots,” he says. “Nick, could you take my plate and fill from your table?”

“Just wait for the elves to replace the tray,” Nick complains, even as they reach for his plate. 

“But this is easier for me,” Greg argues lightly.

“But it’s another thing for me to do that isn’t eating,” Nick jokes.

Emma simply doesn’t tell the two that the Puff carrot tray is full again.

Just as Nick hands Greg his plate, the main course disappears, swiftly replaced by dessert.

“Heck yeah!” Kevin cheers, immediately taking three different kinds of cookies along with spooning some pie onto his empty plate.

“I just got my carrots,” Greg complains, shoveling the vegetables into his mouth at an inhuman rate, managing to fit five in his mouth at once. 

“This is what you get for eating healthy,” Nick teases around a bite of chocolate cake.

“Screw you,” Greg manages to say around his carrots, clear enough that it isn’t a completely garbled mess of a retort.

As conversation between her friends devolves into gentle teasing and an extremely annoyed Greg, Emma tunes out, used to it all after years. 

She finds her mind wandering over to the other side of the Hall. How many Slytherins and Ravenclaws are having similar meals? How many other students are turned away from their house, bridging the divide by turning around, too?

Do Greene, Klein, and Gonzales do this too?

A nudge from Greg brings her back to the conversation at hand, and Emma jumps right into her friends’ predictions for the upcoming quidditch season with a smile.

It’s good to be back.

Chapter Text

Alyssa recognizes the anger in her aunt’s frame as soon as class begins. She glances over at Kaylee, who’s better at reading people, to find her frowning over at Alyssa, obviously picking up on the same thing. Before anything else can happen, Angie really gets going.

“Change of plans for the year,” Angie begins, setting down some papers. “Normally, I start the fourth years off with some defensive barrier charms and spells, tailored to work in tandem with your Charms class on magnification.” Picking up a different stack of papers, she starts handing them out. “However, due to… new Ministry oversight… We will be expanding on three spells you already know, Protego, Stupefy, and Expelliarmus, and learning a new spell, Petrificus Totalus. ”

Alyssa raises her hand and waits to be called on. When she is, she asks, “Why did the Ministry say you couldn’t teach us barrier spells?”

Angie pauses before responding. “It’s not that they said you couldn’t,” she begins carefully, “but that you’re supposedly too young to need to know this. I think it’s just ridiculous.” Angie shrugs. “You’re all plenty competent and skilled enough. But I have to comply. You’ll all learn it next year, instead. I was given extremely short notice on the curriculum change, so I’m giving you all a few minutes to remind yourselves of the first three spells while I gather my thoughts.”

Alyssa and Kaylee immediately turn to each other, but before they can use Alyssa’s notes another voice shoots through the room. 

“Why do we even need a stupid shield spell? Or whatever a barrier spell is?” Alyssa rolls her eyes. Of course Marcus Thatcher has an opinion. “What’s that mud—”

“If you utter a slur,” Angie calls out immediately, “It’s a week’s detention, Mister Thatcher.”

He’s sitting ahead of Alyssa, so she can only see his back, but she knows that Marcus rolls his eyes. Unfortunately, he keeps talking. “Okay, what’s that muggle saying? ‘The best defense is a good offense?’” He leans back in his chair far enough that Alyssa can imagine breathing on him and tipping him over, and, well, the castle is drafty… “No need for defense when you’re hitting them hard.”

“Oh, really?” Angie asks, dropping her quill and looking to Marcus. “You think that defense is useless?”

Marcus shrugs. “Yeah.”

Angie smiles one of her I just found my new lesson plan smiles before responding. “Then perhaps we should test your theory. Miss Greene?”

Alyssa sits up at her name being called. “Professor?”

“I would like you and Mister Thatcher to come up to the front of the room and give a demonstration. Mx. Boomer, if you could be so kind as to come and officiate a quick informal duel?”

The classroom breaks out into an excited susurrus of sound as Alyssa and the two Gryffindors make their way up to the front of the room, though Alyssa isn’t sure if it’s about the upcoming duel or the weird title Angie used for Nick. Speaking of, Alyssa shoots him(?) a questioning glance as they reach the front of the room, freshly cleared of obstacles by Angie’s wand. Nick makes a motion that Alyssa reads as I’ll tell you later, so Alyssa puts the matter out of mind for the moment.

“Since this duel is informal and demonstrative,” Angie begins as Alyssa and Marcus face each other, “Alyssa, I ask that you attempt to use defensive spells to your advantage, since Marcus sees that there is no use for them.”

Marcus smirks at her. Alyssa narrows her eyes, guessing at the thoughts running through his bigoted mind — probably something misogynistic — and nods to acknowledge the Professor’s instructions.

“Nick, you know the rules of dueling, correct?” The Gryffindor nods, and Angie smiles. “Great. They will call the beginning and end of the duel, as well as any disqualifications he sees, while I watch and comment.” Alyssa takes note of the pronouns her aunt uses and nods subtly to herself. Definitely something she’ll ask about later.

“Finally,” Angie wraps up, “Marcus: do what you think is best. And with that, I hand the reigns of this duel to our officiate.”

Nick steps up. “I’m still making you two do the bow.”

Alyssa brings her wand up and bows stiffly, coming up and waiting for Marcus to return the gesture. 

He doesn’t move until Nick raises an eyebrow. “Really, Thatcher? Gonna lose by disqualification before a single spell is cast?”

With a grand roll of his eyes, Marcus bows in the barest sense of the word.

“Thank you.” Nick raises a hand. “Paces! Three, due to the room size. On my count.”

Alyssa turns, mind already whirling. Marcus will probably start with an offensive spell right off the bat, so to prove the point she’ll start on the defensive. Then, she’ll try an offensive spell when the moment is right, which might be only after one spell or a few, depending on how surprised he is by her defense.

Nick counts, and they pace as directed. The moment she takes her third step, Alyssa spins on her heel, wand raised and ready. She sees Marcus’ back still turned to her; if she hadn’t been proving a point about defense, she could win right now with a Stupefy.

Instead, Alyssa waits for Marcus to face her and cast the first spell. She’s not even sure what spell he throws at her; she’s too busy yelling over him. "Protego!”

She smirks as his spell fizzles at her wand tip, and chooses not to laugh at the surprised look on his face. Taking her chance, she lunges as she flicks her wand again. "Expelliarmus!" Marcus’ wand flies out of his slack grip without hesitation, and she adds one more spell. "Stupefy!"

The final spell hits him square in his chest and he falls back with a whimper. Nick raises a hand. “The winner is Alyssa.”

“Excellent form,” Angie praises. “Five points to Slytherin for that, and five to Gryffindor for Nick. If you two could return to your seats while Mister Thatcher recovers from a well-aimed spell?”

Alyssa and Nick nod, heading back to their seats. Kaylee holds out a hand, and Alyssa high-fives her. She notices Kevin do the same with Nick.

The class starts talking while Marcus figures out how to function again, quieting once he makes his way to his seat, head bowed.

“Thank you all for the demonstration,” Angie begins. “I’d like Mister Thatcher to begin by explaining his thought process during the duel.”

Marcus swallows, probably trying to regain some of his composure. “I— Well, I started with a spell once I turned around, but Greene didn’t let it land. Next thing I know, I’m wandless and on my ass.”

“No swearing,” Angie reminds him. “Miss Greene? What were your thoughts?”

Alyssa sits up straighter. “Honestly, my first thought after the count was that I could have stunned him before he even turned around due to his reaction time.” Alyssa can’t believe he’s a chaser. “But I didn’t, because it would have been unsportsmanlike. I let him shoot first, knowing he’d begin with an offensive spell and threw up a shield immediately. Then, using his surprise, I disarmed and disabled him.”

“Which perfectly demonstrates the usefulness of a defensive spell like Protego,” Angie finishes. “It might surprise your opponent, giving you a moment to disarm and/or disable them.”

Marcus mutters something, but Alyssa doesn’t quite catch it and Angie pretends not to notice it.

Angie stands up from where she’s been sitting on her desk. “With that refresher out of the way, we can begin our actual lesson for the day.”

***

Emma pulls her robe tighter around herself as she heads back from Herbology in time for Potions. Despite the fact that fall has only just begun, the sunshine that usually begins to peek through onto Hogwarts’ grounds is missing in its entirety. 

She shivers, groaning to herself when she sees Greene, Gonzales, and Klein approaching. This is exactly what she doesn’t need today, she can’t help but think, but they seem more worried than anything as they get closer. 

Against her better judgment, Emma stops. She ignores the little voice in her head that nags that maybe she cares about her three classmates a little more than she wants to let on. 

It doesn’t stop her from her normal greeting. 

“Greene. Something wrong?”

As usual, Kaylee chimes in right after. “We’re here too, you know.”

Greene ignores her and nods, surprisingly unguarded as she shrugs. “Potions was super weird. Professor Allen spent the whole class telling us about the medicinal and healing uses of the different solutions and how to apply what’s in the grounds’ greenhouse and gardens.”

“She seemed really on edge, too,” Shelby chimes in, looking up from a page of notes she’s going over, presumably for her next class. “All frantic, rushing about, trying to pack every bit of info she could into the block.”

“She even got me to pay attention,” Kaylee tries to joke, but it falls a little flat. She half-smiles. 

Emma chuckles. “What a feat,” she teases good naturedly. 

Kaylee’s eyes glimmer with mischief. 

Shelby, however, seems to have a more thought out agenda as she speaks again. “Honestly, Nolan, if you could go to class and let us know what you think, that would be great.”

“Me?” Emma asks in surprise. 

“You know that class like the back of your hand,” Greene explains. 

It feels like one of the few real compliments the Slytherin has ever given her. 

Emma’s spine straightens, and there’s an unfamiliar tingling at the tips of her fingers and slight warmth, but she ignores it.

“We just want to make sure that nothing is super wrong,” Kaylee adds. 

“So, will you let us know?” Shelby finishes.

It’s not too hard of a request. Emma knows that. Besides, this is Greene, Gonzales, and Klein. If they’re asking, it’s probably for a good reason. 

So, she nods. “I’ll let you know. Dinner?” 

Shelby gives her a thumbs up. “Sit in the middle so we can turn around and talk. That way, ‘Lee and ‘Lys can come along and it’ll be harder for the prefects to see that they’re not at their tables.” 

“Okay,” Emma agrees. “Where should I put myself in class?”

“The front,” Greene instructs. “She was moving all over the place up there, sweeping things aside and all.” 

“The front it is, then,” the Hufflepuff assures. “Eight o’clock? Just in time for the teachers to start to leave?”

Greene nods for all three of them. “Eight o’clock.” 

***

“Nick, you look like shit,” Emma teases as they walk past her on the way to breakfast. He takes a seat at the Gryffindor table near her, turning around so they can talk over the house divide. Greg turns, too, and Kevin trails in a few seconds later and sits next to Nick.

“Fucking stairs didn’t let me up last night,” they explain, running a hand through their hair. “I had to sleep on the couch again.”

“Again?” Greg asks around a mouthful of cereal, swallowing quickly. “Dude, the amount of times you sleep down in the common room is reaching absurd. Maybe you should talk to a prefect?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Nick scoffs. “‘Hey, Miles, Can you bend the rules of only two dorms per year because I’m not a boy or a girl?’ That’ll go perfectly, asking someone who I’ve literally heard agree with the death eaters to give me a single when not even seventh years get that.”

Emma winces. “Maybe… maybe Professor Oliver, instead? Go above him.”

Nick tilts his head. “I dunno, the couch surfing’s survivable.”

Greg shrugs. “If you’re willing to walk, ‘Puff dorms don’t have slip ‘n’ slide stairs; you’re welcome to crash with me.”

“Maybe,” Nick yawns. “What do you think, Kevin?”

Kevin jumps at his name, gaze returning to his friends. “What?”

“Dude, were you listening at all?” Emma turns around, trying to see where he was looking and spotting a familiar gaze aimed his way. “Or were you too busy staring at a certain Ravenclaw?”

“No!” He answers too quickly to be anything but a lie, and Emma fights the urge to grin. “...Maybe.”

Emma actually laughs at that. “Dude, you’ve liked her since last year. Just ask her out already.”

“I can’t do that! She might not like me like that.”

“But she might,” Greg points out.

“But—” 

Whatever Kevin was going to say is cut off.

“Hey, Kevin?” He whips his head around, standing up awkwardly when he sees Shelby there. 

“Shelby! Hi!” he manages.

Shelby smiles. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Kevin scrunches his eyebrows together. “I was already going with my friends?” His explanation comes out more like a question, and Emma winces. She’s willing to have him go out with Greene’s friend, but not if he messes up this badly.

Before Shelby can leave, or even deflate from his unintentional no thanks, Nick kicks Kevin and stage whispers, “She’s asking you out, idiot.”

“Oh.” Kevin blinks, then realizes what they said. “Oh! I’d love to go. With you, I mean.”

“Great!” Shelby beams, shoulders falling as she straightens up. “We can meet after breakfast, walk down together?”

“Yeah.” Kevin nods, way too excited. “I’d love that.”

“It’s a date,” Shelby responds with a smile. “I’ll see you around.” With that, she’s gone, heading out of the hall.

As soon as she leaves the Great Hall, Kevin mumbles, “It’s a date?” Louder, he repeats, “It’s a date.” Out of nowhere he cries, “It’s a date!!” And jumps for joy, earning a laugh from all his friends and stares from their two houses.

***

“Kevin?” Kaylee’s exclamation hits Alyssa before she even gets through the entrance into the common room, and therefore isn’t surprised to see Shelby perched on the Slytherin couch. “You’re ditching us for Kevin Shields?”

“I’m not ditching you!” Shelby replies. “I asked him out, and he said yes.”

“We’re talking about Nolan’s friend?” Alyssa asks, sitting down next to Kaylee. “Hey, Royce,” she greets the snake when she notices him.

The snake hisses something Alyssa’s learned is hello. 

“I’ve said that Greg is nice a million times,” Shelby says. “He and I study together. You just have some preconceived prejudices that—”

“You know I meant the other Nolan,” Alyssa interrupts.

Kaylee scoffs. “You know, ‘Lys, you might have to get used to Emma hanging out, since Shelby insists on dating one of her friends and studying with her cousin.”

“It’s one date, Kaylee.”

“Please, I’ve seen how he looks at you,” Kaylee dismisses. “You’ll be dating before too long.” She’s playing it cool, but Alyssa notes the tension in her friend’s back as she talks about Shelby’s love life. Royce hisses something and slides off of Kaylee, moving towards her.

Alyssa sits back, zoning out of the conversation. As Royce slithers around her arm, she mulls over Kaylee’s words. It’s not that she hates Nolan; she’s just… infuriating. She’s so jovial and lighthearted, and Alyssa’s never seen her serious about her school work. The fact that she is constantly fighting her over the top rank in the class, jumping between first and third place— Shelby, somehow, always remains in the second slot— is a point of contention between them.

… Actually, is it two-sided?

She’s never seen proof of Nolan feeling the same, other than snide remarks about her grades and offers to help her in Potions.

Wait.

Alyssa groans, interrupting whatever Shelby was saying. “Okay, fine. I’ll give Nolan a chance.”

“You will?” Kaylee sounds surprised, and Alyssa internally agrees.

“I will. Promise.” In that moment, Alyssa feels something shift within her. Faintly, she recalls another promise she had with someone, years ago. He said he’d come back . She resolves to keep her promise, unlike her father.

Shelby smiles in a way that Alyssa can only describe as relief . “Thank you, ‘Lys.”

Alyssa smiles back. “Anything for a friend.”

***

The first time it happens, Emma doesn’t think anything of it. 

After all, Greg has always been pretty good at reading people, especially compared to Emma, so she had just assumed that he noticed she was out of soap when he was showering and wanted to make sure she didn’t forget about it. She thanks him, and they move on with their lives.

Except it keeps happening. 

It happens at lunch when she runs out of napkins on Tuesday. It happens a few weeks later when she’s thoroughly lost in thought and he pulls her away from the oncoming wall that the school moves into her path. It even happens in class when she’s about to fall asleep right in front of Professor Allen.

It’s driving her crazy.

Emma sets her quill down in frustration as Greg hands her a new inkpot without speaking. “What are you doing?”

Greg looks up from across the common room table, looking as if there’s nothing out of the ordinary. “What? You needed more ink—”

“But I didn’t say anything!” Emma exclaims. “I did nothing to indicate that I ran out of ink, yet you just… know.” She doesn’t know how to explain it because by all accounts it makes no sense. It’s even worse because Greg doesn’t seem to notice that anything is weird, so Emma is stuck feeling like she’s throwing pins on a conspiracy board.

“I don’t just know,” Greg protests, following Emma’s lead and dropping his quill. “Something told me you needed ink. You told me you needed ink.”

Emma squints at Greg, who looks just as confused as she feels. Well, it is magic school; odds are someone has an explanation. “I think we need to pause our study session and go talk to Professor Dickinson.”

She doesn’t take no for an answer.

An hour later, Emma is waiting outside of Professor Dickinson’s office, fingers tapping on her crossed arms as she waits for Greg to leave. It feels like she’s been here for an eternity since Professor Dickinson shooed Emma out of her office after hearing their story.

The door opens, and Emma shoots up. “So? What’s up?”

“I’m something called a Legilimens,” Greg says, looking slightly out of it. “We did some tests. I was accidentally reading your mind. Sorry.” He wanders away aimlessly as if that is a sufficient explanation, leaving Emma standing alone in the hall, flabbergasted.

“You were what? Gregory Michael Nolan, get back here!”

***

“Legilimency,” Shelby points to the section in the book, and Emma squints at it. “Often paired with Occlumency, and often confused with each other. Basically, Legilimency is peering in to the mind, and Occlumency is keeping out others. Everyone can learn Occlumency, but only a few are gifted with the ability to become a fully fledged Legilimens.”

Greg, from next to his cousin, blinks. “What, so I’m just gonna be accidentally seeing everyone’s thoughts for the rest of my life?”

“Professor Dickinson offered to teach you, didn’t she?” Shelby asks. “Take her up on it. Who knows? You might get a sickass job one day because of this skill!”

“I mean, it’s not like you can become even more of an outcast,” Emma says in a joking tone, and Shelby stares at her in shock. What the fuck? “I mean,” she continues, thankfully, after noticing Shelby’s gaze, “The gay, disowned, Hufflepuff son of the Nolan house with a lesbian cousin, also disowned, who’s friends with Nick?”

“Wait. What’s up with Nick?” Shelby has many questions, but decides that that’s the easiest.

Emma looks sheepish. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t just, like, know everything about us,” she admits. “Nick’s non-binary, he/they pronouns.”

“Thanks for the update,” she files that information away. “So they’re starting to be out about it?”

“Yeah,” Greg confirms. “But some people are assholes about it.”

“Give me names,” Shelby demands, and Greg laughs. 

“You’re talking to two ‘Puffs, Shelbs,” he says. “We’ve tried this already.”

“But I’m his only Ravenclaw friend.” She narrows her eyes. “They won’t be prepared.”

Chapter Text

Tap.

Tap tap.

Tap.

Alyssa is ready to pull her hair out. Her promise to give Nolan a chance echoes through her head, but is routinely drowned out by that annoying tapping she’s doing with her fingers. No one else in their little study session seems to be bothered by her tapping, so Alyssa is stuck grinding her teeth at the inconsistent pattern Nolan is drumming out.

It doesn’t help that she’s entirely stuck on this Potions essay and refuses to admit that she’s done no work for fifteen minutes and therefore has been stuck paying attention to everyone around her in an attempt to appear productive.

Greg shifts, drawing Alyssa’s focus. “Nice tune, Em. Is that for Frog Choir?”

“Stop reading my mind, Greg,” Nolan says in a monotone as if this is a normal occurrence which, from what Alyssa knows about Greg, it very much is not. “But yeah, it is.”

“Get stronger at Occlumency,” Greg teases, “And I’ll stop reading your mind.”

Alyssa sees her chance and takes it. “Does this tune have anything to do with your finger tapping?”

Nolan blushes; wait, since when did she blush?

“I was tapping? Sorry.” She pulls her hands off of the table, and Kevin looks up from where Shelby is helping him with some homework. 

“Why do you never read my mind, Greg?”

Greg turns to Kevin, narrowing his eyes. “The only thing I can get from you is how embarrassingly much you think about Shelby. You’re not even focusing on your homework.”

Nick and Kaylee laugh as Shelby turns accusingly to her boyfriend. “We’ve been going over these Charms problems for an hour!”

“Maybe we should stop for the night,” Kaylee suggests, and Alyssa mentally sighs in relief. “I mean, I’ve stalled out.”

“Same,” Nick chimes in, and everyone else follows suit.

They all pack up and everyone leaves but Alyssa lags behind a little, mentally going over her schedule to see when she’ll be free to finish this essay before it’s due. When she looks up, she’s surprised to see Nolan hanging back as well.

“What?”

She can’t meet Alyssa’s eyes, which makes her nervous. “I just… I noticed that you kinda stalled on that Potions essay. I could — I mean, if you wanted — I could help?”

Alyssa is silent, staring at Nolan. She shifts, moving to leave before Alyssa speaks. “Why are you doing this?”

“Out of the goodness of my heart?” Alyssa narrows her eyes at that, and Nolan sighs. “I figured, since Shelby’s dating Kevin and is friends with Greg, that we should try to get along. And since Potions is one of my strong classes, I thought I’d offer my help.”

“I thought you wanted to be top rank in the class,” Alyssa says.

“I will be,” Nolan assures with a smile, “But, like I said last year, I want it to be an even playing field. Earn it fair and square.”

Alyssa remembers that moment, then, and she finds herself nodding. There’s something intriguing about the Hufflepuff, something that she just wants to know, though she isn’t sure what yet. 

“Okay, fine. But I don’t know when I’ll be free.” 

Nolan smiles, waving her off. “No problem. Just let me know.” She gestures to the door. “Do you wanna grab dinner together?” 

Again, Alyssa finds herself nodding, though she isn’t sure why or how. “Sure.” She’s smiling too, though she’ll deny it later. “That sounds like fun.”

*** 

“I can’t believe I’m missing quidditch practice for this,” Nolan grumbles, following Alyssa toward the greenhouse where Professor Glickman has some assignment for them. 

“And I can’t believe I’m missing Exploding Snap with my friends because you couldn’t think of a good excuse for why we were in the library at 3am, even though you know I asked you to meet me for help on the Potions essay.” 

“What did you want me to say?” Nolan snaps. “That I wanted to meet you because it was a midnight rendezvous and we’re in love? We’re fourteen!” 

Alyssa’s cheeks pink slightly at that, but she tries to play it off. “Shut up,” she tells the other girl, though there isn’t as much sharpness as there has been in past years; she’s actually rather grown to enjoy Nolan’s company and thoughts on academic and quidditch matters, though she’d never say that to her face. She doesn’t even correct Nolan on her age; she’s not fourteen yet. “Why’s that the first thing you think of, though?” she teases, trying to get a handle on the dynamic between them that she’s used to — the one that’s comfortable, the one that doesn’t throw her off balance with curiosity. “Something you want to share with the class?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Nolan fights back easily, but there’s no bite. She’s a little flushed too, but she just looks away, adjusting her glasses. Idly, she searches for something else to say, but everything seems to have rushed from her head, as it usually does with Greene, despite the fact that she can’t think of anything she’d like more than to actually get to know her. 

Luckily, Professor Glickman notices them just in time and opens the door to the greenhouse.  

“Greene! Nolan!” he greets, pulling the entrance wider to let them in, gloves still on and his glasses slipping down his nose. 

“Good evening, Professor,” they both chorus brightly, filing past him. 

He smiles, releasing the handle so that the door can fall shut before ushering them towards the back of the greenhouse. “So, as I understand it, you two were caught in the library after hours?” Both girls nod, ready to earn a talking to, but instead, the man just sighs. “What a stupid reason. If you two wanted to learn, then what’s the big deal?” The two girls both look at him with wide eyes, and he grins bigger, winking at the former. “Don’t tell your mother I said that, okay, Little Falcon?” 

Alyssa laughs. “Of course not, Uncle.” Sometimes she forgets that he’s a Ravenclaw.

He nods brightly, remembering himself. “Oh, yes, but I do have some work for you. You don’t mind, do you? Wouldn’t want Professor Allen to have my head.” 

Both girls shake their heads. in unison. “We’d love to help,” Alyssa supplies. 

“And you know this is my favorite class,” Nolan adds. 

“Wonderful,” Barry says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get started then, shall we? Hopefully we’ll be out of here before dinner time.” 

***

They end up outside, mixing soil and pulling ripe plants that are in harvest season. They’re mostly recognizable vegetables that end up in the kitchens. Both remember starting with these plants in first year as an introduction to caring for greenery. 

“Does this look ready to you?” Alyssa asks, pointing to what they both have decided they think is a potato plant but aren’t really sure. 

“I think so,” Nolan laughs, shrugging. “By the root and the growth, yeah. See there—“ she points to the leaves, leaning over Alyssa’s shoulder slightly— “the vine has died. That means it’s prime harvesting season.” 

Alyssa nods, acutely aware of how close she is to the Hufflepuff, that they’ve never been this close before. “Sounds good.” She grabs her shovel at that, digging beneath to start to pull the plants free. 

There’s silence for a moment as her companion does the same, and they place the pulled potatoes in the barrel as they go. 

Finally, the other girl speaks. “Why do you call him uncle?” There’s just plain curiosity behind it, and Alyssa smiles. 

It’s nice to feel Nolan making an effort. They’ve grown from rivals in every sense to a steady, new friendship, and she finds it’s the easiest one she’s ever been a part of. The girl is easy to talk to, always quick to make her laugh, and is the best listener she’s ever known. 

Somehow, despite the newness of it all, Nolan — no, Emma — feels safe. So, despite the fact that she’s always been slightly private about her life outside Hogwarts, about her mother and what her family— both blood and not— has lost, she tells the story. The full one. 

“Uncle Barry— sorry, Professor Glickman— and my dad were best friends in their school days. Same with Professor Dickinson and my mother.” She smiles softly. “According to my mom and Angie, and most everyone else, the four of them used to get up to things. Crazy things. Pranks, house on house snowball fights, night flying where they convinced even the prefects to come out.” She laughs, tossing another potato out of the soil. “They were the cool kids, back then. And then, you know, life happens,” she continues, trying to keep her voice light, but she feels those hazel eyes on her, the ones that Shelby always teases her over talking about. They make her melt slightly, make her throat tighten, but she braves on. These are things only Kaylee and Shelby know, things that she should become comfortable telling other important people in her life. She ignores the fact that she just lumped Emma into the important people category. “My dad went missing, has been MIA for years now. And shit started to hit the fan, and Uncle and Aunt stepped in where they could, helped me get ready for school, brought us dinner when money was tight. They’re family.” 

She turns her head to the side to wipe a stray tear that fell before she looks back at Nolan who’s slightly speechless. 

“It’s a lot. I know,” she tries to laugh. 

“It’s not that,” Nolan says quickly. “I just… you’re really strong, Greene. I mean, after I left home— I’m gay, you know? And well, my family didn’t take well to that— I fucking wallowed. And you, I mean, look at you! Your dad… and everything. I never knew. I never would have known.” She smiles, crooked and perfect and sweet and every other adjective that Alyssa has always known described Emma Nolan but refused to really allow herself to think. “You’re kind of awesome, Alyssa.” 

Alyssa looks down at that, biting her lip around a smile. “You’re awesome, too, Emma,” she answers, knocking her shoulder before she softens. “And I’m sorry about your parents. They sound like they fucking suck.” 

Emma laughs loudly at that, glasses bouncing up on the bridge of her nose. “I mean, Greg’s are worse, but yeah. They’re not great.” 

The brunette nods thoughtfully, not sure where the words come from when she opens her mouth. “Well, you know, my mom always loves having people for the holidays. If you and Greg ever wanted, I mean. And you live with your gran, right? I’m sure if she wanted to come too, she could!” 

It’s a momentous kind of invitation, one Alyssa didn’t even know she had in her. For years, her mother has asked if she ever wanted Kaylee and Shelby to come for Christmas or break, and she’s always declined. She doesn’t know what’s different about Emma, but she tries not to dwell. 

“Wow,” Emma says, a little breathless again. “That’s… really nice.” 

“And money is tight,” Alyssa begins to ramble. “It wouldn’t be super nice or anything like that— I mean, we do presents and stuff, and we have a Christmas dinner, but it’s not like—“ 

“It sounds lovely,” Emma interrupts. “And I’ll talk to Gran. And Greg. We’d be happy to pitch in on anything you all need, if your mom really wouldn’t mind and we decide to accept.” 

“She wouldn’t mind at all,” Alyssa assures. She wants to hug Emma, but it feels a little weird. 

What’s the timeline for hugging between friends? Do new friendships always feel this way and she just doesn’t remember? 

“Okay,” the Hufflepuff says, still smiling. “Well, then I’ll let you know.” 

“Good,” Alyssa replies, grinning. 

“Good.” Emma grins back, hesitating for a moment before she continues. “And hey, I’m sorry I got us into trouble, as nice as it’s been hanging out with you.” She gestures to the fact that their moment is being impeded by them being covered in dirt. 

“Not totally your fault.” Alyssa waves her off. 

Emma laughs. “It kind of is, no?” 

“I’m the one who asked for help and was only free at that ungodly hour,” Alyssa answers simply, leaving no room for argument. 

“And I came anyway, didn’t I?” she asks. “But we can make it your fault if you want,” she jokingly adds. 

Alyssa laughs, ready to quip back in reply when Emma suddenly looks past her, face going a little slack. “Emma?” she whispers. “What is it?” 

“You don’t see them?” Emma asks, eyes trailing along the path that leads to Hogsmeade. 

“See what?” Alyssa looks behind her, and all she sees is the invisibly drawn carriages, same as always. 

“The—“ Emma gestures a little wildly— “the things pulling the carriages!” 

“I don’t see anything,” she answers honestly, racking her brain for what it could be, before remembering Kaylee said something about seeing creatures too, that it could be— “Thestrals,” she breathes, carefully taking Emma’s gloved hand in hers. “Emma, you’re seeing thestrals. They happen because you’ve—“ 

“Seen death,” the girl finishes. “God. Gran told me I might. Pops died last spring.” It’s not as if she was super attached to her grandfather. He hadn’t been a good man, the reason, afterall, that her uncle and father turned out the way they did, even as her grandmother tried to push all three men toward the light. Still, she aches, watching the creatures move across the path. She doesn’t let go to Alyssa’s hand, only continues to stare. “I didn’t realize they would be so…” She struggles to find the words before settling on, “Beautiful? Like, they’re not. But, hauntingly, a little, you know?” 

Alyssa nods. She knows the feeling; it’s the one she gets whenever she enters her father’s study, or holds one of his photographs in her hand. She watches in the distance, catching sight of a falcon. Her father’s favorite animal, his nickname for her. 

Sometimes, she likes to believe that it’s him, that he’s watching over her. She’d brought it up to her mother once, but the reply had been harsh, an I don’t want to talk about that!  

Alyssa had left it alone after that. But still, whenever she sees a bird, red-backed and bright eyed, all she can ever think of is Daniel Joseph Greene, her father. She had not seen him die, so there’s no way she could see what Emma is, but in this moment, she too knows what it is to be haunted by something breathtakingly beautiful. 

She keeps holding Emma’s hand, until the falcon flies off, until the last carriage rushes down the path, until Barry calls for them, tells them it’s dinner time. She squeezes the girl’s hand in hers, leans on her for a moment, and she can’t help the feeling that takes hold in her chest that whispers of things never being the same again. 

She goes to say something, trying to think of an artful way of unlocking their hands, but then, a shiver passes down her spine. Something instinctive tells her to turn towards the Forest.

She really wishes she didn’t. She comes face-to-face with darkness itself, it seems, as she stares down a faceless face, a bodiless body, a breathless breath. Cold runs all the way through her until she can barely find oxygen in her lungs, until her stomach contracts and her voice disappears. 

“Do you see those?” she hears Emma mutter, and she can only nod in response. “Oh, okay. Good.”

Alyssa feels Emma’s hand tighten around hers, feels some part of herself being lifted out of her body; suddenly, she hears a voice, a voice she doesn’t know but also feels oddly familiar. 

Goodbye, Alyssa. 

Panicked, she searches for it, eyes scanning the forest. 

“Do you hear that?” Emma asks, tone tight. 

Alyssa doesn’t know what she hears, but she squeezes back, nodding a little frantically. She hears something, something that tears out her heart and ties it in knots.

Thankfully, she’s torn slightly from the chill, from the darkness, when a voice she knows well cuts through it. 

“Emma? Aly—” Barry calls, before he gasps. “Kids, get inside! Now!”

Neither girl knows what possesses them, neither even knew they could still move, but they’re pulling each other along toward the greenhouse without words, without audible communication at all. Whether they’ll admit it or not, they make a good team. 

Alyssa tugs Emma up the steps while the latter forces her to keep her gaze forward, urges, despite the silence between them, for them both not to look back. 

Barry ushers them inside, murmuring some spell that causes a soft-footed kind of bird made of light to fly from the tip of his wand. It spreads a bit more warmth, a bit more safety through Alyssa. She’s still holding Emma’s hand. She can’t figure out how to let go. 

“Uncle Barry,” she mumbles, swallowing hard, trying to get that damn voice out of her head. It was distinctly male, and it brought her some comfort before the shock and fear in her gut exploded. “What were those?” 

“Dementors,” Barry answers gravely, still looking out the window. His eyes track the darkness of the clouds, the way the normal peace that precedes evening seems to be waning thin. 

“What?” Emma asks. 

For a moment, both of the others in the room stare at her, unsure how she couldn’t know what they were, before remembering that Emma did not grow up in a world of wizards. She grew up in a world where Halloween was nothing but a fun day, where fear as dark as night was sequestered to four weeks in October. 

“I thought— I thought they only worked at Azkaban,” Alyssa replies, resolving that it would be best that she explain the haunting tale of dementors to the girl later.

“They work for the Ministry at Azkaban because they get to freely feed there,” Barry explains. “But they’re not loyal. To us. To anyone, really. If they’re here…” he trails off, looking down, obviously trying to tone down whatever sort of thing he was going to say that might scare his thirteen year old niece. “Nevermind. Let’s get to dinner; I need to talk to your aunt.” He doesn’t leave room for argument, murmuring that same spell that pushes the bird from his wand once more before he ushers the fourth years along. “Come now. I hear there’s bread pudding tonight!”

Both girls nod, but as they enter the castle, neither can help it as they glance back at the Forest. 

For the first time, they feel unsafe on the grounds. Idly, they hope the feeling will fade; this is a hope that will continue to linger for long, one that will not be fulfilled for a long while. 

***

Of course it’s raining. 

It’s all Emma can think as she pulls her goggles tighter against her face, eyes searching rapidly for the snitch. The storm is coming down in sheets, but quidditch is “to be played rain or shine” according to the rules, and she’s nothing if not a lover of the game. 

“Greene scores another ten!” Cynthia Jones, fourth year Hufflepuff, calls into the microphone, her voice booming through the stadium. 

Emma groans. “Greene,” she mumbles to herself dejectedly, though she notices that despite her best efforts there’s less bite to her voice than ever. Pushing past the fact, she searches for the uniform of Jules Lancaster, the Slytherin seeker. Her heart jumps into her throat when she sees that he’s moving, ducking and weaving between players. 

As if reading her mind, Jones cries out: “Lancaster is on the move! It seems he’s spotted something in this raging storm!” 

Immediately, Emma is on him, willing her broom to speed back in his direction, making a sharp turn when she sees the seventh year captain pulling up from the ground by the skin of his teeth. She tracks his movement, making a wide turn around him so that they’re neck and neck.

“‘Sup Em!” he laughs, coughing when rain gets in his mouth. 

“Hey Jules!” she calls back, grinning. 

Jules has always been nice to her, and despite the fact that it’s his seventh and final year to possibly win MVP, Emma can’t help but appreciate that the boy has always seemed to put fun and camaraderie over the competition and rivalries. In the past few years, they’ve grown closer; he often offered to help her with her classes and even with seeker stuff, wanting to share skills, uncaring of the fact that they’re on separate teams. 

He’s always made an effort. More than anything, he’s felt like the brother Emma never had. She knows it’s the same for Greene. It’s one of the few things they really agree on: Jules is awesome, the perfect kind of role model. 

She admires the way his eyes narrow only for a moment before she does the same, both of them looking for the game-ender in tandem. 

However much she loves him, Emma wants to win. Faking him out, Emma jukes left, flipping around for a moment, pretending she saw something. 

“Lancaster seems to have lost his balance!” Cynthia’s voice narrates, and Emma takes some satisfaction in knowing she did that. Her heart soars further when she suddenly sees a tiny glint, gold against the darkening sky. 

The snitch is wandering out of the bounds of play slightly, but Emma doesn’t think much of it, can’t really see anything as she chases after it. She can do this. This could be game defining, the game winner. 

She pushes extra hard on the end of her broom, gloved hand itching to reach out the closer she gets— 

Everything inside her drops in an instant, like a stone in an ocean. Her heart that was dancing in her chest just a second ago seems to have forgotten how to beat all together, and a coolness that has nothing to do with the rain beating down on her face, rushes down her back. The sensation is horrifyingly familiar, hauntingly easy to identify. 

Fear. Loss. Pain. 

The highest order of such things. 

Blood refuses to rush in her veins, and again, she’s come directly in contact with the faceless face that haunts her nightmares ever since that day with Alyssa. Thunder and lightning boom and flash as her eyes widen, as she swallows hard. 

They feed on your happiest version, leave you with only an inch of sorrow so that you may wallow in it. 

She can feel it happening; memories flash through her, disappear the longer she holds the wraith-like creature’s gazeless gaze. The very notion of laughter leaves her until she can no longer remember how it feels— every good mark, every bit of joy that’s ever enveloped her, ever warmed her on cold nights, rushes from everywhere until there’s only an emptiness, something missing that’s unidentifiable. 

Then, the voices start echoing.

She’s eleven all over again. 

“You might as well just go. See how much I care.” 

It’s her father. 

“Nobody will want you. You’ll see.” 

Her mother. 

Only this time, there’s no Gran that saves her, no Greg that sweeps her into his arms and wipes her tears away as they start to fall. 

This time, the tears don’t ever stop. Suffocation pushes down firmly on her chest. She can’t even breathe. 

“Let go,” her father’s voice taunts. “Nobody will catch you. Let go. See who cares.” 

Emma tries to refuse, but there’s no fight in her, no reason to keep going. Her hands start to slip from the edge of the broom, but a sliver of her remains. She grips it with every ounce of strength in her, even as she feels herself start to quiver without any control over her own movement. 

Her father’s voice cracks her open once more. 

“Let go!” he screams louder as she grabs his arm, as she begs him not to make her leave. “Let go of me, Emma!”

The force with which he rips his arm away tears her in two, it seems. She feels small, broken, just as she did on that day, just as she did for so many weeks, months, after, trying to put herself back together, become somebody again.

But the thing is, maybe she never did. Maybe she’ll never be who she was: happy, unburdened, loved. Maybe all there is left is this shell of herself. A part of her died that day; she knows that to be true. 

“Let go of me, Emma!” her father’s voice thunders once more. 

Emma can’t remember why she’d even tried to hold on that day. 

There’s no reason to hold on. 

So, she lets go. 

I let go, Dad, she thinks. I did what you asked. 

The dementor’s breath shudders. 

And then, the whole world disappears. 

***

Alyssa watches in slow motion as it happens. The quaffle is in her grasp, but she doesn’t even care. 

She drops it, bulleting forward on her broom, glad she’s wearing her favorite pair of goggles enchanted with a water repellent charm, as she searches for Emma’s falling body. 

“Emma?!” she cries, looking left, looking right. She doesn’t even care if the game is still going on; her friend just fell out of the damn sky. 

Finally, she spots her; she’s gaining momentum the longer she falls, and against her better judgement, Alyssa speeds towards her, yelling, screaming for a professor or somebody to notice. 

She waves up at Barry and Angie who are in the stands, talking amongst themselves, noticing able to squint enough to see the horror on their faces. 

“Arresto momento!” she hears them both cry at the same time as Emma’s unconscious form becomes level with the goal posts. 

Alyssa follows quickly, knowing it’s not much but reaching for the front of yellow Hufflepuff robes when she’s about twelve feet from the ground, but she misses completely, watching in horror as Nolan’s body hits the pitch, albeit slower than it would have if she had not caught her aunt and uncle’s attention. 

She lands as gracefully as she can— which isn’t really graceful at all; the front of her broom narrowly misses the grass— but it doesn’t matter to her much as she stumbles into a run towards Emma. 

“Shit,” she mumbles, leaning down onto the grass. “Nolan? You idiot! You better be fine!” 

Madame Keating and Headmaster Hawkins are rushing onto the field. “Ms. Greene—” they both start at the same time, but Alyssa doesn’t even look up. 

“Emma?!” she prompts louder.

“Ms. Greene!” Hawkins interrupts. “Please let us take a look.” 

Alyssa goes to protest, but then she notices how many people are watching. She nods, stepping aside. 

Behind the two adults’ heads, she sees that Jules has caught the snitch, but nobody’s paying attention. He himself doesn’t care as he rushes over, setting the golden ball free without thought and dropping to his knees next to one of his favorite fourth years — the other is Greene. 

Together, Alyssa and Jules try to talk Emma back to reality, though they know it's a futile attempt at best. Despite their normal fitting in with their house traits, neither of them can find any bit of them that thinks that winning matters at this moment. 

Instead, they watch helplessly as Madame Keating listens for consistent breathing, feels around Emma’s body for anything broken, or any signs of waking up. 

“She’ll be okay,” she tells Hawkins. “But I’ll need to take her, of course. Ms. Greene, would you like to come along?”

Alyssa finds herself agreeing before she even registers that no might be an option. She has no idea what’s gotten into her. Jules pushes her along with an encouraging look, even as she reaches for his hand for him to come along too. 

He shakes his head. “You go on ahead,” he whispers, ruffling her hair. “She’ll want to see you when she wakes up.” There’s a look in his eyes that says he knows or senses something a little more than he lets on.

“What do you mean?” she asks. 

Jules gives her a soft look. “Just go, ‘Lyssa,” he says softly. “Captain’s orders, okay?”

Alyssa nods and starts to walk backwards, still a little confused and trying to tell him so with her eyes.

It’s not like she and Nolan like each other all that much, anyway. 

Right?

***

The first thing to hit Emma’s consciousness is that her hair is sticking to her cheek, and it’s both incredibly uncomfortable and also probably makes her look gross.

The second thing to hit her consciousness is the pain .

A lot of it. 

She groans, doing her best to wiggle her fingers and toes but feeling an immediate, extremely unpleasant full body twinge. She can at least feel the warmth of blankets over her legs, which is nice, considering the last thing that she remembers is being drenched to the very bone. 

Shifting, she tries to take some weight off her tailbone, and she finally opens her eyes. 

To the surprise of literally nobody, she can’t see anything. The familiar weight of her glasses is gone. Instead, she sees a very blurry figure in front of her, presumably sitting in a chair. If she had the energy, she would have jumped as they spoke. 

“Hey,” the figure says in a familiar voice, touching her arm gently, and Emma takes the chance to be a little shit, lips twitching.

“God?”

“I’d smack you if you weren’t in a hospital bed,” the figure replies, though it’s clear they’re also trying not to smile. “Here.” 

She feels gentle fingers holding her face, calloused at their very tips as her glasses slide onto her nose. Then, Alyssa Greene’s face comes into focus, as do the lights. Emma squints, trying to ward off the brightness, but not before she notices the mud caked on Greene’s face and clothes.

“Are you okay?” she asks, brow furrowing. 

That is, apparently, the absolutely most wrong thing to say in this situation.

Emma watches in mounting fear as Alyssa’s annoyed smirk morphs from shock to anger, and no amount of warning could have prepared her for the thirteen-year-old’s tone of voice. 

“Am I okay?” she starts, and Emma already regrets her first question; if she had the bodily function to do so, she might shrink back slightly. “I just watched you fall out of the effing sky and you’re stuck in a hospital bed! Why are you asking if I’m okay?” She almost follows through on her previous threat and smacks the area next to Emma’s shoulder before speaking again in a softer tone. “Idiot.”

“I’ll admit that it wasn’t the best question to ask first,” the Hufflepuff admits before her voice lilts up slightly. “You just kind of look like shit.”

Alyssa gapes, slapping her hand against the pillow right beside her head. “You’re one to talk!” she defends. 

Emma laughs. “Jesus, woman. I was just kidding!” She’s grinning despite the slight pain in her face, unable to stop herself. She fakes a sort of softening, her whole body buzzing for an entirely different reason as she allows mischief to take over. “Could I try again?”

“Sure.”

“Who won?”

Alyssa groans. “I hate you,” but her tone is surprisingly affectionate. “But we did. You’re the best thing on that team, Nolan.”

A new sort of smile creeps onto Emma’s face at the admittance. “Did you just admit that I’m good at something?”

“Screw you!” Alyssa’s forcing her lips to stay in a firm line too, though not to much avail. “You’re just the only one who can catch the snitch, you arrogant aaaaaaaaaaaaaa—”

Alyssa elongates the word in an attempt to hide the fact that she was just about to call Emma an asshole right after she fell out of the sky, especially since the woman who’s just entered is the girl’s caretaker. 

She blushes, pulling her hand back from where it was still rested on Emma’s bicep. Emma pretends that she doesn’t immediately miss the warmth of her contact.

“Ah, Miss Nolan,” Madame Keating begins. “Glad to see you’re awake.” She’s immediately all business, which Emma appreciates. “I gave you a little bit of a healing potion already, but they’re more effective when conscious, so I wanted to wait until you woke up. We’re going to keep you overnight and give an assessment in the morning.” She writes down something on her clipboard; Emma can guess that it’s probably a dosage of the medicine she’s taking and any other important bits of information that the woman noticed since her arrival in the hospital wing. She watches as the healer scans her clipboard, humming to herself as she checks off items until her quill reaches a box near the bottom. “Oh, Nolan, it does say I will need your account of what caused your fall.” Her eyes dart across the page. “I could simply write that you cannot remember—”

“No,” Emma interrupts, “I remember.” She remembers every haunting moment.

“If you’re sure,” Madame Keating says, summoning a different clipboard. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I almost had the snitch,” Emma begins. “But… a dementor was there. It— I lost control of my limbs. I fell.” 

She doesn’t say that she let go. Such a thing is too heavy to admit, too difficult to face. All it took was her father’s voice in her ear again, a push, a reminder of the worst day of her life to be that scared little kid again. 

At her side, Alyssa gasps, but Emma is sure that she knows she’s withholding details. She appreciates that she doesn’t push. 

“Oh, dear,” Madame Keating mutters. “I’ll add some chocolate to your prescription.”

“Chocolate?” Alyssa frowns. “Why chocolate?”

“Warms the soul,” the woman replies, smiling ruefully. “Reminds the body of any happiness a dementor might have eaten.”

Emma doesn’t say that she’s been reminded of happiness by the girl next to her.

“Is that all, Miss Nolan?” Emma nods. “Alright, then. You slept through dinner, but I’ll have the kitchen make you a small meal; you’ll take your potion then. Miss Greene, you may stay until visiting hours are over.” With that, Madame Keating is gone.

Emma and Alyssa sit in silence for a moment. 

“Congrats on winning the cup,” Emma offers, but Alyssa scoffs.

“Somehow, I don’t really care that we beat you again,” the Slytherin admits. “It’s hard to care about things like that when a peer of yours falls out of the sky.”

“You saying you care more about me?” Emma teases.

“In your dreams, Emma.”

“Emma?”

For some reason, the use of her first name from the girl’s lips makes Emma’s heart turn over more than she’d like to admit. 

Alyssa’s eyes widen. “Nolan! I said Nolan.”

“Sure, Greene.” Emma’s smile is stuck on her face. “Whatever you say.”

Chapter Text

“Dementors…” 

Shelby freezes, one hand poised to knock on Professor Dickinson’s office. She’s read about dementors. Why is her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher talking about them so gravely?

“It’s been weeks since their first appearance, but I still can’t sleep,” Professor Glickman’s voice responds, and oh, she’s eavesdropping. Should she leave? “You know what happened the last time they came to Hogwarts.”

“I was there,” Professor Dickinson jokes. Shelby can’t see, but she can imagine her professor leaning against her desk as she speaks. “We sent the Winchesters out for a reason, Barry.”

“Their report came back,” Barry replies, trying to remain even. Shelby can practically hear him swallow and steel himself before he continues. “Angie—”

“I read it. You don’t have to tell me,” the woman snaps, but there seems to be less bite to it than she intended. 

“I know,” Barry responds, “But we should tell them.”

“No.” Shelby’s never quite heard her professor’s voice so curt.

“They deserve to know, Angie,” Barry tries to argue.

“No.” If Shelby isn’t imagining things, Angie’s voice is tinged with desperation. This conversation reminds her of a phone call, actually, stuck relying on tonal shifts to convey meaning, losing the advantage of body language and facial expressions. 

Barry keeps talking, trying to make some kind of point that Shelby can’t quite decipher. “It’s their fathers—”

“Then I’ll have to admit that he’s gone!”

Silence. 

Shelby holds her breath.

Barry breaks the quiet, voice so low that Shelby strains to hear him. “We knew. Deep down, we always knew. It was always a last ditch effort.”

“I know, Bar.” Angie sounds… defeated.

“It doesn’t have to be today,” Barry continues, still soft, “But soon. Before the week is out.”

“Fine. Schedule it.” Angie’s voice sounds final, close to tears, and Shelby suddenly remembers that she had a question for her, which is why she even heard this obviously private conversation.

For once in her life, Shelby Gonzales decides that her question can wait.

***

Alyssa peers her head around Angie’s office door, surprised to see Barry there as well. “You wanted to see me?”

“We did, yes,” Angie waves her in, gesturing to two chairs. “Have a seat; we’re just waiting on one more person.”

Alyssa slowly sits down, really confused. “Who are we—”

“Professor?” Alyssa turns her head to the door, confused by the familiar voice. 

“In here, Mx. Boomer!” Barry calls, and Nick of all people walks in, doing a double-take at Alyssa. “Please, take a seat.”

“What’s going on?” they ask, sitting down. Alyssa shares his confusion; despite immediately using their new pronouns this year, Barry and Angie have always been a little cold to Nick for no reason that she can see. 

“We’ve just received some… information,” Angie begins, and Alyssa notices for the first time how shaken her Aunt and Uncle look. “We thought it best that you two were told about it.”

What? Alyssa stays silent, curious. Nick seems to be at a loss for words, too, and the office is silent.

Instead of talking, Barry slides a photo across the desk.

A photo of her parents, aunt and uncle, one that Alyssa recognizes. Except…

“I don’t understand,” She looks up from the photo. It’s supposed to be four in the photo. Not five. “Who is—”

“Dad,” Nick whispers, face pale, as he recognizes the previously mysterious face.

Barry nods. “Seven years ago, Daniel Greene and Nicholas Boomer Senior began an undercover mission to try and take down You-Know-Who from the inside. Two years in—” Barry breaks off, and Angie takes over.

“Two years in, we received a final notice from Danny. Nicky… he turned on him, sold him out. We lost contact, and have been forced to believe that- that they’re gone.”

“We thought he changed,” Barry says, but Alyssa, with whatever part of her brain that doesn’t feel like she’s had ice water thrown over it, thinks that he doesn’t mean to say it out loud. “He— We did so much to help him…”

Alyssa doesn’t listen to the rest. Her dad was alive. Her dad didn’t die right after leaving home, he had been alive , with a friend, for two years, and she finds out in time to learn that he’s dead ?

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” Nick’s voice pulls her from wherever she was. “He— Why tell us now?”

Barry inhales slowly. “Over the years, we’ve done all we can to find them. We have to… we have to accept that Missing In Action is now a permanent status.”

“You were too young,” Angie explains. “It was easier to keep the story simple, before now. We thought that maybe if there was a chance, we could find your dad,” she continues, before looking to Nick. “Both of them. But last week, the Winchesters— Noah’s parents, you remember?— went on a mission. They… reported seeing him. No sign of Danny.” 

“Bastard Boomer!” Barry exclaims out of nowhere, and Angie turns to him.

“Barry.”

“I’m right, P— Angie,” He defends.

“Wait… you thought he changed?” Alyssa speaks, for the first time in a while.

“He was… friends, with some questionable people in school,” Angie begins, but Barry takes over.

“Future death eaters. We thought by being his friend, by showing him they were bigoted, he would change, and he did.” Barry pauses. “For a little while, at least.”

Angie looks at Alyssa and Nick. “Barry was the closest to your dad,” she explains to Nick. “He’s taking this hard. We all are.”

Alyssa leans forward as Nick leans back. “But— I could find him! I could—”

“We’ve tried, Little Falcon,” Angie stops her. “I wish we could do more. We’ve wondered for years. Danny promised he’d come back, and it’s been so long that we have no choice but to think him—“ 

“Stop,” Alyssa breathes, holding up a hand. “We don’t say that word; remember!” 

“We don’t say that word around your mother,” Angie corrects. 

“We don’t say it period,” Alyssa fights. 

She can’t believe what she’s hearing. 

“‘Lyssa, we have to be realistic,” Barry murmurs. “Your aunt and I have thought of every angle. Nicky did what he did. There’s no way of changing that. The consequences of his actions are the life you have now.” 

Nick speaks up again, voice thick with unshed tears. “Why?” They scrub a hand over their face. “Why would he—”

The office is silent, broken only by hitched breaths and threatening sobs.

“A tiger can't change his stripes, no matter how much his friends want him to."

Angie stands up after she speaks. “I understand this is a lot to process. You two have been excused from classes for the rest of the week. Take… take your time.” With that, she leaves the office. 

If Alyssa paid attention, she would have heard muffled crying as her aunt walked away.

Instead, she turns to look out of the window. Whenever she felt low, she could turn to the window, look to the trees, search until she spots that falcon, and she would invariably feel better.

She can’t find it.

*** 

Alyssa’s whole body burns as soon as she’s alone with Nick. 

It’s unfair. She knows how unfair it is, but when he reaches for her hand, she jerks away. 

“Alyssa,” they mumble, hurt. “Alyssa, I didn’t know—“ 

“Your father killed my father, as far as I’m concerned,” she snaps. She doesn’t want to believe him dead, hasn’t wanted to, but maybe her aunt and uncle are right. 

“Alyssa! We’re friends!” Nick pleads. “I’m sorry! My mom never told me, and my stepdad is a muggle. She said he died in service, and I never asked for anything more.” 

“You should have asked,” Alyssa cries, falling back into her seat. It’s a ridiculous demand. It’s not as if she’d like to hear the details about how her father died. 

“I should have, but I didn’t,” Nick breathes. “But you know me. I’m not like him!” There’s willful certainty behind their words, as if they’re trying to convince themself of such a fact, too. “And on behalf of him, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry—“ 

Alyssa hops up. “I can’t sit here anymore.” She wipes at her eyes angrily. “I’m going to… go somewhere. Please don’t come with me.” 

Nick watches helplessly as his friend walks away, and Alyssa holds in a sob of her own. Nick wouldn’t hurt her; she knows that, but now, she sees the resemblance from the photo. 

Same eyes. Same smile. 

It makes sense why Barry and Angie have always been so cold. 

She isn’t quite sure what she’s doing, but she manages to storm down to the dormitory to grab her broom. Kaylee is on her bed playing with Royce, and she looks up with a smile that immediately falls when she sees the expression on her best friend’s face. 

“Alyssa—” she calls, but Alyssa can’t say much, doesn’t know if she’ll ever have the words again. She grabs her goggles and her practice quaffle, too, storming out even as footsteps follow behind her. She picks up her pace, unable to fathom opening up to Kaylee or Shelby, not after what she knows now, not after she maybe broke their carefully beginning friendships. 

She makes her way through the Great Hall, down the steps, and to the pitch so fast that she’s not sure that she didn’t use her power. It’s always been this way for her; when her anger boils over, so does the magic. 

Refusing to dwell, she takes flight, quaffle in hand, only to see someone equally angry diving after practice wiffle balls. She takes in the curly blonde hair, the Hufflepuff robes— 

Goddammit. 

Of course Nolan is here. 

***

Emma knows an angry woman when she sees one. She also knows the tears on Alyssa’s face; they’re the same one’s she’s been wiping from her eyes for the better part of an hour. 

Parent heartbreak. 

Despite their breakthroughs, Emma doesn’t want to get in Greene’s way, but she also knows that being alone when hurting is worse than being next to somebody, even if that somebody is a newly acquired friend who you still have a raging rivalry with. 

So, she waits it out, still practicing dives with her wiffle balls, when there’s a sudden whipping of wind by her ear. 

She watches, wide eyed, as Alyssa’s quaffle hits the center goal post so hard that the contact sends a ringing through the stadium. Shocked, she sits atop her broom, allowing her spell to drop all the practice gear that was floating around her to the ground. 

Alyssa is breathing hard, angry, behind her, and normally, even if it was just a few months prior, Emma may have left without another word, but now, she just doesn’t want Alyssa to be by herself. 

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, mostly because I don’t like being lied to,” she says into the space between them.

There’s no indication that Alyssa will even acknowledge her, but she has to try. She promised Kevin she’d try to make nice. 

She shifts idly on her broom, watching Alyssa not look at her. There are still tears in her eyes. 

“Alyssa?” she prompts softly. She can’t remember the last time she called the other girl by her first name; maybe she did during detention? 

Alyssa bites her lip around what looks to have been a large sob. 

Emma’s heart cracks a little in her chest; for all her posturing, she’s always admired the Slytherin: her work ethic, ambition, and honest goodness has always shown through, not that Emma would ever have the courage to tell her all that to her face. 

She wills her broom to go forward, just so that they can be across from each other. 

“Hey,” she says softly, racking her brain for something, anything. “Alyssa?” She repeats it, since she isn’t sure what else can be said. 

“What, Nolan?” the girl finally snaps, and, strangely, Emma takes comfort in the fact that some of Alyssa’s whip-smart annoyance with her is still ever present. It means that Alyssa isn’t totally out of it, could even be brought back to herself with a little push. 

Emma tries for a smile. “Are you going to apologize to your quaffle?” she asks, pointing to it on the ground. “Kind of a dick move to throw it that hard. What did it ever do to you?” 

Her heart swells to a size that any cardiologist would deem unhealthy when Alyssa laughs wetly, eyes lighting up a little. 

“Shut up,” she mumbles. She’s obviously trying not to show the amused twitch in her lips. 

“Apologize!” Emma tells her, biting back a pleased smile. 

Alyssa rolls her eyes in a way that Emma can almost convince herself is affectionate. “You want me to apologize to a quaffle?” 

Emma nods brightly. “Yes.” 

Alyssa snorts. “Fine.” She looks down at it on the grass. “I’m sorry.” 

The Hufflepuff grins. “Better. Now, before you almost break anything else and have to apologize, do you wanna sit and talk about what’s bothering you? Or is the tear streaked face thing something that’s in right now?” 

Scrubbing a hand over her face to hide her affectionate amusement, Alyssa nods. “I think sitting down would be nice. And then you can tell me what’s bothering you, too.” 

Emma opens her mouth to protest. “I—“ 

Alyssa holds up a hand. “This friendship is a two way street, Nolan,” she declares before she realizes what she just said. “If I’m going to talk to you about something deeply personal, then you have to, too. That’s, like, the rules of friendship. I thought that was clear after detention at the greenhouse.” 

Emma laughs. “There are rules?” She stops, before playfully asking, “And did you just call us friends?” 

Alyssa reddens. “Maybe I did.” 

Emma smiles. “And here I was thinking you hated me, Greene!” 

Summoning her quaffle from the ground, Alyssa throws it at Emma. “Shut up!” 

“Hey!” The Hufflepuff dodges easily. “Rude!” 

Alyssa laughs around a few more tears, sucking in some snot. “You deserved that. Plus, I need that image in my brain while we talk.” 

Emma softens. “That bad?” Alyssa shrugs, smiling sadly. “Oh, Alyssa,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t even know what happened yet,” Alyssa reminds, swallowing the saltiness building in her throat. 

“But you are my friend,” Emma replies genuinely. “And I don’t want you hurting.” 

Alyssa nods, clearly grateful for the words. “It’s alright. It would be nice to talk, though. Offer still stand?” 

“Of course,” Emma agrees quickly. 

Without another word, she watches as the other girl drifts toward the rows of seating, and she follows; the world feels different, now, now that she knows that they’re friends, that Alyssa believes them to be. 

It’s as if she’s achieved true balance for the first time, as if the world has stood upright on its axis, if only for this moment, as if it’s righted itself so that they may sit next to each other, equal in footing, for the first time. 

“You dawdling, Nolan?” Alyssa calls over her shoulder playfully. 

She shakes her head. “Nope! Sorry! I’m coming!” 

Friends. 

They’re friends.

Emma can’t help but smile softly at the thought, but it’s impeded more by concern when she sees the way Alyssa hunches over the moment she can take a seat in the stadium bleachers. 

***

For weeks, Alyssa refuses to study with the group. Despite the carefully crafted study schedule, despite the fact that she could really use some companionship, she sticks firmly to her favorite chair in the common room, going at it alone. If she heads to the library, chances are that Nick will be there. And they’re the last person she wants to see. 

She’s aware that it’s slightly immature, considering the fact that things around school have only grown more tense and she’s just adding to it in her immediate circle by means of avoidance, but if she has to see Nick’s face, she’s worried she may do something she’ll regret. 

Still, she doesn’t know how to say that a seat that is very clearly not taken is taken to Emma Nolan when she manages to clamber her way into the Slytherin common room and sit down next to her. 

“Hello,” she says, not looking up from the eighteen inch essay that’s due in two days. 

“Hi,” Emma replies, and Alyssa can feel her nerves without even meeting her gaze. “Shelby let me in.” 

“Good of her,” Alyssa replies, as absently as she can manage. She doesn’t want to hurt Emma’s feelings, but at the same time, if she’s here to be a representative for Nick, she doesn’t want to hear it. 

Surprisingly, Emma doesn’t lead with that. Instead, she clears her throat. “I was wondering if you needed help with potions?” 

Alyssa finally looks up. “What?”

“Well, I haven’t seen you in a little while, not since…” she trails off. “Not since that day at the pitch.” Alyssa appreciates her tact. “So I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. And let you know that there’s always a seat at the table for you.”

“It’s not about the seat,” Alyssa replies. “You know that.” 

“It’s about who’s next to you,” Emma fills in, a little sad. “You should know Nick feels bad,” she mumbles. “They understand. But he feels bad.”

Alyssa struggles for a moment to find the right thing to say. She doesn’t mean good, because Nick shouldn’t feel terrible for something their father did, but she also can’t bring herself to look them in the eye and say it’s okay.

It’s her father for Merlin’s sake. He had been alive, had a chance at coming home, if Boomer Sr. hadn’t ruined it. 

“Just think about it,” Emma urges quietly, reaching out to touch her arm. “We’re at the same table. If you ever want to come by.” 

Her throat is tight as she nods, looking to Emma helplessly. She’s surprised, still, at how much compassion she finds in the girl’s eyes, even after a few months of steady acquaintanceship and eventual friendship. 

“It’s normal to be upset,” she echoes from their conversation on the bleachers. “But Nick isn’t his father. If you’d give them a chance—”

“If I’d give him a chance, I’d see things different,” Alyssa finishes. “Shelby said the same thing yesterday.”

Emma smiles sadly. “I’m the first person who knows what it’s like to hold a grudge,” she tells her quietly. “It only hurts with time.” 

“So you’ve suddenly forgiven your parents? After the dementor attack last week that left you in a hospital bed because you heard their voices?” the Slytherin asks, more harshly than she intended. “Sorry. That was super rude and invasive.” 

Shaking her head, Emma waves her off. “Not at all. And I guess… I guess you’ve got me there,” she laughs with little humor. “I haven’t. And you never have to forgive Nick’s father. But the child should never bear the responsibility of their father’s sins nor successes.” 

She doesn’t say any more than that, standing and heading off in the direction of the dormitory exit. She waves gently, tossing a gentle smile in Alyssa’s direction, who only can watch her go. 

The child should never bear the responsibility of their father’s sins nor successes. 

This is something she knows too well; everywhere, she’s Veronica and Daniel’s girl, and, while, more than anything, she’s proud of it, she wishes to break from them, to have her own name, her own successes, to build on what her parents created, to strip herself new from the expectations attached to Greene and spark new ones. 

Contemplating, she stares down at her essay, resolving that she’ll finish it tonight before thinking anymore on Emma’s words and Nick. 

***

For the next several days, Alyssa can do nothing but think about what she’s going to say, how she’s going to approach Nick. 

The opportunity presents itself rather easily, in the end, when they practically run into each other in the library. 

“Sorry!” she says, looking up from her book. 

“My bad!” Nick apologizes at the same time, looking up from theirs. “Oh. Hi, Alyssa.” He sounds nervous, tentative. 

Alyssa tries her best for a smile. “Hi, Nick.” 

He scratches the back of his head, looking around nervously. “Well, I better be going,” they mumble, voice tinged with regret. 

“Wait!” Alyssa grabs their arm before she really knows what’s overcoming her. “Do you want to talk, maybe?” 

They perk up. “You mean now?” 

Alyssa shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, if you’re free?” She sits down in one of the armchairs, pointing to the free one next to her. “Invitation’s open.”

His eyes are bright with hope. “I’d love to talk.” 

Again, they speak at the same time. 

“I think I owe you an apology—“ 

“—I don’t expect you to forgive my family—“ 

They both stop, laughing a little. Things already feel easier between them, some of the tension that lived in the air they were breathing dissipating slightly. 

“You go first,” Nick says. 

Alyssa nods. “Okay. Well, I owe you an apology. For how I acted.” She softens. “You’re not your father, Nick. And I’m not mine. I’m sorry I acted like it was your fault.” 

Nick seems slightly flummoxed at that, as if they hadn’t expected such a straight-forward start to their conversation. 

He nods. “Thank you for that. But I also think that it’s on me for not asking more for what happened to my dad,” he admits. “I guess I wanted to believe he was a hero, that nobody ever talked about him because they were mourning, not because—“ They look away. “Because, you know.” 

“I understand,” Alyssa says quietly. “And, y’know, I’m sure that he was a good guy, at some point. Sometimes, people just make a left instead of a right. My aunt and uncle probably have some good stories. I could ask them to share, if you want.” 

“Thanks,” Nick replies, clearly meaning it. “But I don’t think that’s what I want, at least not now. I feel like I should know the bad stuff first. Just to clear up who he was in my head.” 

“Okay.” The Slytherin shifts in her chair. “Well, if you ever need help with that, too, I’d be happy to listen or look into it.” 

They turn to look at her. “Really?” 

“Nobody should have to do that alone,” she answers confidently. “I’m the first person to know that.” They both know what she means; Alyssa spent the better part of her beginning years at Hogwarts learning everything she could about her dad, about his accomplishments, his friends. And it ended up hurting, knowing about this life he had, one she would never know from his point of view. She doesn’t want that for Nick. “Besides, what are friends for?” 

Nick’s eyes light up. “Friends?” 

Alyssa hadn’t realized she’d said the word aloud, but she also knows how true it is. She nods, sticking out her hand for a shake. “Friends.” 

He takes it, smiling. “So we’re cool?” 

Alyssa smiles. “We’re not our parents. I can’t pretend Angie or Barry are going to immediately warm up to you, and I also can’t say I’ll ever forgive your father—“ 

“I don’t forgive him either,” Nick agrees, interrupting. 

“Then we’re on the same page,” Alyssa declares. “So we’re cool.” 

Nick breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank Merlin. I missed you. Emma started talking to me about school because you weren’t around, and I think deep down she’s still scared of Kaylee because of Royce and Shelby because she’s wicked smart. Do you know how boring Herbology talk can get?” 

Alyssa laughs. “I’ll be sure to take her off your hands some, though it’s not like I’m the biggest fan of Herbology either,” she admits, ignoring the little voice that whispers how much she enjoys spending time with Emma, even when she’s talking about boring crap like plants. They’re new friends, she supposes it’s normal, though something inside tells her that the warmth isn’t something she ever had when she started to hang with her two best friends. “I’ll take one for the team,” she jokes. 

Nick grins, not privy to any bit of her internal monologue. “Perfect.” 

***

“I see you and Nick made up,” Emma singsongs, clearly pleased. 

“We did,” Alyssa replies, sliding into the seat next to her in the library. They’re holding a group study session for Charms, and it seems they both had the same idea of arriving early. “Thanks to you,” she adds. “I thought about what you said.” 

Surprisingly, there’s none of the usual confidence from Nolan that has lately made her less annoyed and more endeared than previous years. Instead, the Hufflepuff only smiles, and for the first time, Alyssa notices she has dimples. 

Such a tiny fact makes her smile, even if she’ll deny it later. 

“I’m glad you two worked things out,” Emma says instead. “It was obviously weighing heavy on both of you. I was sad because you guys were sad.” 

Alyssa softens. “Thank you for helping us.” She really means it, tries to show the other girl how much by, weirdly, placing her hand on top of hers. She doesn’t even like physical contact— normally, the thought of touching anybody but her family, Kaylee or Shelby would be extremely awkward— but she doesn’t feel that way with Emma, whose hand is warm and soft under hers.

The corners of Emma’s mouth pull up harder. Alyssa smiles back. 

In this moment, she decides that Nolan definitely isn’t all bad.

Chapter Text

“Are your boyfriend and his friends joining us on the ride home?” Kaylee asks as she stashes her trunk. “I don’t want to claim my space if I’m just gonna be interrupted.”

“Can you just admit that they’re your friends, too?” Shelby complains lightly, but there’s a playful smile on her face that makes Alyssa happy for her friend. “And yes, they’re all coming.”

“Not to be basic,” Kaylee begins, doing exactly that, perhaps too much to be genuine, as she  claims a corner of the compartment with Royce, “But I cannot believe how hot Kevin got this year.” Alyssa feels dread begin to collect in her stomach at the topic, but she sits next to Kaylee anyways since she’s comfortable with Royce being close to her. 

Maybe if she’s quiet they’ll change the topic before she has to weigh in?

“I know, right?” Shelby exclaims, collapsing across the other bench. “I mean, if I had waited to ask him out he might have been grabbed by someone else!”

“I think you were safe until after Christmas,” Kaylee points out. “I mean, puberty hit him like a truck during break.”

“I never thought I would enjoy sports.” Shelby sighs, a dreamy smile spreading across her face. “But whatever he does at practice works , because I could eat sushi off of his abs.”

Alyssa visibly cringes at that image. “Gross.”

“It wouldn’t be when they were sweaty ,” Shelby defends, thankfully missing the reason Alyssa reacted.

Normally, she would drop the subject, but something in her tells Alyssa to defend her reaction. “Why would you eat sushi off his abs in the first place?”

“It’s more a comment of how fit he is,” Shelby explains in a slightly confused tone. “I mean, a buff idiot is an ideal partner, and Kevin’s got rock-hard abs and pecs of steel.”

“Oh my God,” Alyssa exclaims, covering her ears. “No, I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Fine,” Shelby says, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “How would you describe Kevin?”

“Other than total hottie,” Kaylee jumps in, eyes wide with a sort of overdone excitement, a gentle kind of urge to fit in accompanied by an unsureness that Alyssa may have noticed if she wasn’t also losing brain cells at an exponential rate trying to cover for herself.

“I…” Alyssa wracks her brain, trying to come up with something that doesn’t cross any lines. “He’s… a boy. And he sure has… limbs, and, uh, teeth, and… a dick?” She slaps her hands over her mouth, eyes widening as Kaylee cackles next to her.

Shelby seems amused as well, but Alyssa can’t really tell through her embarrassment. “He does indeed have all of those. And what, pray tell, is wrong with that?”

“Nothing!” Alyssa rushes to cover up her mistake. “I just— I’m a lesbian, so I don’t…” 

Shelby is silent for a moment, and Alyssa is scared that she’ll take it poorly for a fraction of a second. That fear is misplaced, however, because Shelby shrugs. “Okay.” A devious smile spreads across her face, and Alyssa is now terrified for a very good reason. “You know who’s pretty like Kevin, but not a boy? Emma Nolan.”

“Absolutely not,” Alyssa protests, despite the images flashing through her head — including one with sushi? — and the warmth of her cheeks. “I can barely tolerate Nolan! Besides, I don’t think she’s even my type.”

“She’s not, huh?” Kaylee pipes up from next to her, and Alyssa only refrains from hitting her because she’s not sure where the majority of Royce’s body is and she doesn’t want to hit the snake. “Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m— I’m not! It’s hot in here!” Alyssa covers her cheeks with her hands.

Shelby, still sporting her mischievous grin, raises an eyebrow. “The train is air conditioned, ‘Lys. Always has been, and you were fine a minute ago.”

“Shut up,” she protests weakly.

“Why are you ashamed?” Shelby asks. “I mean, I’m completely and absolutely happy with Kevin, but I’d totally go for Nolan.”

“No!” Alyssa’s not sure where her reaction came from, but she’s too busy doubling down to care. “Do not.”

“Defensive,” Shelby observes. “But okay.”

“First Kevin, now Emma?” Kaylee raises her eyebrows. “You have a type, Gonzales?”

“Absolutely not,” Shelby dismisses. “I’m just aware that all of my friends are super cute.” She punctuates her sentence with a wink to Kaylee.

Kaylee, for once, is speechless as her cheeks fall into varying shades of red. “Oh,” she breathes. There’s something about it that feels different to Alyssa, though again, she can’t put a finger on it— the loss of brain cells has certainly impeded any kind of emotional intelligence she possessed before she accidentally pointed out that a certain Gryffindor boy has a dick. She’s still scarlet at the memory, simply watching the scene before her unfold, glad the attention isn’t on her any longer. 

She finds relief too soon, because Kaylee clears her throat and turns to Alyssa. “So you wouldn’t kiss Emma if you could?”

“No,” Alyssa gets out, just in time for Karma to kick in and lead Nolan to their compartment, followed by the boys and Nick.

“Hey, guys,” she greets, and Alyssa shoots to her feet.

She freezes for a moment when everyone’s eyes land on her. “I…” She fumbles for a good reason why she jumped up so quick. “I’m going to get a sandwich. Anyone want anything?” She refuses to look anywhere near Nolan, which is difficult considering the size of the train compartment.

“Vegetarian,” Kaylee calls out from behind her.

“Could I get a BLT?” Emma asks, fumbling around in her pockets as Alyssa forces her way to the door. “Here, I have a few—”

“It’s on me,” Alyssa dismisses, desperate to leave . It’s not like she’s broke.

“Oh,” Nolan responds, seemingly oblivious to Alyssa’s racing— and incredibly traitorous— thoughts. “Thanks!”

“It’s no problem.” She waves her off. “Kaylee, can I have a few galleons for yours?” 

“But you’re paying for—” 

Shelby and Alyssa both shoot their best friend a look at the same time. She groans. “Fine. Here.” She hands over her coin purse. “Get me a soda, too, then.”

“Well if Kaylee’s paying for hers, then I should—” Emma starts, but Alyssa’s already down the hall when the voice hits her ears, mowing down a poor first year who is still looking for a place to sit with her stride.

***

He missed his daughter’s birthday again. 

He knows that. 

Tapping his foot, he checks his watching, waiting for his patrol partner to arrive. This is really the grossest place to hang out for somebody, but everywhere else he’ll be spotted, and that’s the last thing that anybody he works with needs. 

Sighing, he fingers the beads on his necklace, the ring on it too, trying to remind himself why he left behind what he did.

Chapter Text

Like always, it’s a tight fit, but with Greg sitting on the edge of one of the seats and Shelby in Kevin’s lap, this time nobody has to sit on the floor. 

They all exchange summer stories — Kevin about his latest camping trips with his mom, Nick about a football game he and their stepdad went to — and though Greg starts by sitting smack dab in the middle of the carpeted floor that’s God knows how many years old purely on instinct, he yelps when he’s suddenly hauled up by the collar of his shirt by the tiniest person in the compartment. 

“Get up here, Nolan,” she laughs, scooting over slightly and even remembering to put Royce aside so the boy won’t be white as a sheet the whole train ride. “If we’re gonna be friends you are not allowed to be a floor gremlin on the train.” 

“I’m not a gremlin!” he protests, but everyone can see how pleased he is that he’ll actually have a seat and that Kaylee— by far the most deliberately cold of their new little group— is warming up to him. 

Once settled, he pulls an envelope from his inside pocket and pulls out a badge, proudly pinning it to his chest. 

Prefect. 

“You got one too?” Alyssa asks, pulling hers from the side flap of her backpack and showing the boy that hers is identical sans the fact that it’s green instead of yellow. 

“Hell yeah,” Greg laughs, reaching out for a high five when he notices that Shelby’s got one too. “You too, Gonzales?” 

She grins and nods, putting down her book to give him a fistbump. 

Right then, Emma comes down the hall; Gran had called her back to give her a few last minute gifts and treats for all of her new friends. Betsy Nolan is perhaps the only person more excited than her grandchildren at the prospect of having a year where things are really starting to look up. 

“Of course you nerds got those,” she teases, before her eyes zero in on the fact that the only open seat is next to Alyssa. She wanders over as coolly as she can. “Greene.” 

Alyssa doesn’t look up from a sketch and watercolor she’s doing of a few plants. “Nolan.” 

“Not this again,” Kaylee grumbles, muttering something about Hufflepuffs before picking up Royce and petting his head gently. “Though I assume you’re only calling my nerdy friends nerds because you got the quidditch captain appointment?” 

Emma laughs. “So you can call them nerds, but I can’t?” 

Kaylee glares at her playfully. “Guess we’re even.” 

Emma grins. “You get the badge too, Klein?” 

The girl nods, winding Royce around her neck so she can grab hers. “Damn right I did.” 

“Me too!” Nick calls around a bite of chocolate frog. 

“We all have badges!” Kevin points out brightly. 

Everybody turns to him. “Kev, what badge do you have?” Nick asks, tilting their head to the side slightly. 

Kevin shrugs, grinning adorably lopsided as he holds Shelby around the waist carefully and grabs his backpack, pulling free a shiny— 

“Prefect?” several of his friends all marvel once. 

“How on Earth—“ Kaylee adds. It’s not meant to be rude, but it’s not as if Kevin Shields is stereotypical prefect material. He’s middle of the class, a prankster half of the time, and his list of things he enjoys is only a few points long and most of them include his girlfriend. 

“I don’t know!” Kevin says, still smiling. “I was going to go up and buy some lunch after this meeting we have, though. It’s in—“ he checks his watch— “ten minutes. Anybody want anything?” 

Endlessly endeared, everyone writes down their sandwich order and thanks the boy, before the prefects of the group stand up and get ready to head to the front of the train. 

***

Kevin comes back hauling seven sandwiches while Alyssa, Greg, and Shelby bring up the rear with candy, crisps, and drinks. 

“Vegetarian, BLT, Ham and Cheese,” he lists off, throwing the first at Kaylee, then tossing the next at Emma before handing the third to Nick who’s right beside him. As gently as he can— which is about as gently as a large dog can run across a hardwood floor— he places the others onto the seats of his friends who are carrying the other food, before he sits down and grabs his to start eating. 

Shelby, Alyssa, and Greg pass out the rest of what they’re carrying, while the Hufflepuff turns to Nick, remembering something. 

“Oh, Nick,” he starts, handing them a box of Every Flavor Beans. “The other ‘Puff prefect asked about you. She says hi.” 

“Oh, Cynthia?” Nick asks. “Yeah! She’s nice.” They blush a little, and it makes all of his friends coo. “Shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s no actual anger in it. In fact, they can’t help it when they smile. 

***

Shelby is fully aware of the rule that houses should sit together at meals — especially the opening feast — but all of her friends are in other houses, and that gets boring . Sure, she’s got some people she’s friendly with in Ravenclaw, but no one she’d like to sit with for the entire meal. So, she uses the confusion of the crowds to sit with her friends. 

Just as Shelby manages to squeeze into a spot at the Slytherin table— with only a few confused looks due to her different colored tie— Headmaster Hawkins stands up to make an announcement. 

“Students are not to leave the castle alone.” His voice echoes through the hall, wand to his throat so he needn’t yell, though it’s clear that even if he hadn’t used magic, everyone in the Great Hall would have been quiet for him, their respect evident. There’s an unfamiliar chill in the room, though, where there would normally be a warmth associated with seeing old and new friends. “For quidditch practice, captains must wait in the front entrance until all team members are ready, and students will walk in pairs for classes held outside like Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. I cannot stress enough that Hogwarts is still a safe place, and these are only precautions.” 

“Is he sure about that?” Kaylee whispers, causing her two friends to snort quietly. “Is he going to pretend like there hasn’t been weird darkness over Diagon Alley, like our parents aren’t being super weird about everything?”

“It’s probably to reassure the younger kids,” Alyssa hisses back. “Don’t scare them!” 

“Fine, fine,” the other Slytherin replies, before Shelby sticks out an elbow on either side to make them be quiet as Hawkins begins to speak once more. 

He looks around, trying his best at a smile. “I don’t mean to put a damper on the mood, however, so let us celebrate another year at Hogwarts, another year together.” He claps his hands, and Professor Dickinson leads the new first years to the front of the hall. “Let us begin, as always, with some words from the Sorting Hat before our new students are assigned to their houses.” 

The first years look meek at best, and Shelby smiles to herself, remembering how that felt, to be up there, watching a hat start to talk. Without fail, its raspy voice begins to fill the hall, and it’s almost hilarious to see their eyes widen, until the older kids start to process the forlorn nature of its words. 

Long ago, Hogwarts was built, a simple dream, you see: 
That children be taught, their magic honed, regardless of the lives their ancestors lead. 
Gryffindor pledged to teach the brave, those with courage at heart. 
While Ravenclaw, her heart was swayed, by those which was knowledge they sought. 
Slytherin declared he’d search for those with cunning, whose ambition was singular and true. 
Hufflepuff, however, perhaps the kindest, was aware what nobody knew: 
That though we are divided by house colors and points, together we work best. 
For our walls will crumble from within, if we do not love all the rest.  
So let us come together, in this time of dark and strife, 
For blood is only blood, and the shortest thing is life.  

As always, students clap when the song is done, but there’s a resounding, tentative slowness about the noise echoing through the hall, as if they don’t really know if they should be putting their hands together for such words. 

“That felt like a warning,” Shelby mumbles to herself, clearly not quiet enough as her two friends hum their agreement. 

“Thank you,” Headmaster Hawkins thanks the Hat before turning to Angie. “And now, Professor Dickinson will lead the sorting.”

As names are called and first years are sorted, Shelby applauds for all of the kids. She cheers a little louder for the new Ravenclaws, earning yet more odd looks from the table she’s seated at, but everything seems a little more subdued than years passed. The applause isn’t as loud; the older kids not as boisterous. 

It could just be her further separation from the Gryffindor table, but she’s not ready to write it off as only that.

The ceiling is overcast, and Shelby shivers. 

Chapter Text

“I just had the weirdest—” 

Everybody starts to speak at the same time as they sit down at their usual table in the library. 

They all laugh half-heartedly. Lately, they’ve been having a lot of moments like this, and, like always, they elect for the kids from Defense Against the Dark Arts to go first, since that’s where the most confusion and changes have been happening.

“Professor Dickinson seemed upset about something again,” Shelby admits, looking to her friends who nod in confirmation. “She was muttering about the Ministry again.” 

“They’re restricting her curriculum,” Alyssa chimes in. “I heard her talking about it with my uncle.” 

“The same thing is happening in Charms,” Nick agrees. 

“There’s so much Professor Potts wants to teach us, but he seemed… downtrodden at best today,” Emma adds. “You know how he’s normally so chipper? The normal Potts laugh we hear walking into class was missing.” 

“I’d stay out of his way today.” Kevin’s eyes are sad. “He seemed upset, storming about and all.” 

“All the teachers seem to be in a mood,” Greg points out. “But yeah, I’d stay out of everyone’s way that you can. Nobody’s class seems safe from the Ministry, unfortunately.”

“I can’t help but wonder why they’re doing it, though,” Alyssa thinks aloud. “Shouldn’t they want us to learn more?”

“Everything’s been a bit weird this year though. Let’s be honest.” Shelby shrugs. “Something about the Ministry is off.”

“Yeah. My mom works there, but it really seems like she’s not having a good time there. She said it’s super tense.” Alyssa drums her fingers on the table. “It’s odd. She said aurors are mostly taking care of the Law Enforcement things, so her job is basically null.” 

“That does sound odd,” Kaylee agrees. “Isn’t the job of aurors to like… take care of more serious things?”

Alyssa shrugs. “I can’t ask much, but if the Ministry is starting to invade Hogwarts with their policies, something isn’t right like Shelby said.”

“Everybody should keep their eye out, then,” Emma proposes. 

Murmuring their agreement, everyone around the table nods, a little unsettled at the way Hogwarts already feels so different from the school they knew even last year. 

Even the library feels even quieter than usual, chilly and almost suffocating in a way that it’s never been before. Normally, there’s warmth between the shelves, but right now, as they hatch a plan to keep an eye on the changes in their curriculums, all of them can already tell it won’t be the last they make of the year, and that feeling that nothing will ever be the same hits them all over again. 

***

“I haven’t seen you around these parts as often as usual, Miss Gonzales,” Mister Dilella, the librarian, greets Shelby as she wanders up to his desk, a space all its own near the front of the expansive room. “Prefect duties really chewing up that much of your time?”

“I somehow gained a social life when I wasn’t looking,” she jokes. “Is anyone back in the Restricted Section? I want to make the most of my free time.”

“You’re clear. Remember the rules—” Mister Delilla begins, but Shelby finishes the rules he laid out for her the first time he gave her special access to the Restricted Section. It’s well known in Ravenclaw Tower that the librarian has a soft spot for the truly curious and often plays favorites with the Restricted Section for the older students.

“If it’s chained that means it’s off limits, leave well enough alone if I can help it, and nothing leaves this room.” She gives him a smile. “You’re the best, sir.”

Shelby makes her way through the now-familiar maze of bookshelves, waving at classmates or past project partners, no one she would really consider a friend, which is exactly what she planned; her preferred use of free time is uninterrupted research . From the reasoning of using Latin roots for spells instead of any other language tree to the segregation of the muggle and wizarding worlds within different cultures, Shelby still prefers to wander into each self-study session with an open mind and no hidden agenda; if she’s particularly fascinated in a subject, she’ll find a way to keep looking into it. 

Slipping through the door that blatantly says KEEP OUT, Shelby begins her tried and true method of finding her topic of the day: reading book covers. She skips over books she’s read before; An Updated Guide to the Stars was published in 1873 and is the most recent text on that subject, and So You Want to be a Centaur really dragged in pacing.

However, nothing seems to jump out at her. That’s okay; it happens sometimes. If she can’t find anything, there’s always homework she can get ahead of. 

She’s about to give up, but a book title finally catches her eye. It’s faded, which explains why she’s never noticed it before, but once Shelby can make it out she pulls it off of the shelf.

“ Animagi: A Lost Practice, ” She reads out loud. Animagi… Animagus? Like Professor Dickinson? “Huh.” Looks like she has her research topic.

***

“Think of everything we could get away with,” Shelby continues, following her boyfriend into their shared Transfiguration class. “Late night hangouts, exploring the Forbidden Forest, post-school applications—”

“You know what’s better? Not dealing with fur,” Nick interjects, sitting down.

“You might not be a mammal,” Shelby points out. “You could be a bird, a reptile, an amphibian…”

Nick laughs. “Oh, yeah, I’d love to be able to turn into a frog at will.”

“A frog?” Someone from behind asks, and Kevin has a hand on Shelby’s shoulder before she can leave her seat. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a cowardly mouse, Boomer?” Shelby calmly turns around to see Marcus Thatcher, his normal flock of bullies flanking him in their Gryffindor red. “Ooh, wait, what about a squealing little piggy?”

“Do you even know what we’re talking about, Thatcher?” Kevin asks. Marcus and his groupies are the only people she’s ever seen Kevin be anything but friendly towards in all her years at Hogwarts, and if you manage to get on Kevin’s bad side…

“Don’t care,” Marcus dismisses, “Because you know what animal I’d be? A lion.”

“Right, because you’re all bark and no bite,” Shelby spits out. 

That clearly rubs him the wrong way, because he draws his shoulders back and tries to make himself look bigger as if his ridiculous hair wasn’t flopping around. “I’m the best chaser on Gryffindor’s team, I’ll have you know—”

“And yet, who’s your team captain?” Nick says with well-earned superiority. “Keep ribbing me and my friends, Marky, and I’ll have you running laps at practice.”

Marcus’s face turns red as he leans in close to them. “I don’t need to follow orders from some fake Gryff half-boy—”

“Mister Thatcher,” Professor Oliver’s voice echoes through the classroom, faint French accent leaving no room for argument. “If you’re quite done posturing like an offended peacock, please leave Mx. Boomer alone and take your seat for the beginning of class.”

As Marcus sinks into a chair to the laughter of the class, Shelby leans over to Nick. “Just say the word, and he’s done for.”

Nick shakes his head, a smile playing across their face. “Thanks, Shelby, but I think I know how I’ll deal with him this year.”

***

Emma shoots to her feet when Professor Oliver’s office door opens. Marcus storms out before noticing her, and his upset expression turns into utter hatred as he gets up close to her. “This is your fault, Nolan,” he hisses out, “I know it is. You and your cousin—”

“Marcus,” Kaylee’s painfully sweet voice cuts through whatever threat he was trying to make. “I sincerely hope that you’re not saying anything rude to my friend. I mean, it would be a shame if I had to tell my parents about how the Thatcher’s boy has been treating them.”

Marcus’s face pales for a moment, before turning back to Emma with a final glare. “This isn’t over,” he spits out before leaving.

Emma turns to Kaylee, a smile on her face. “I didn’t know we were friends, Klein,” she teases, earning her a shove to the shoulder.

“Shut up. Besides, if he actually paid attention to the pureblood gossip he’d know that my parents would never care about you.” She shrugs apologetically, but Emma rolls her eyes. It’s hardly a secret that both she and her cousin are basically non-Nolans, and while it still stings, she’s used to it by now.

“Any idea why we were called?” Emma asks, changing the subject, but Kaylee shakes her head.

“Miss Nolan, Miss Klein,” Professor Oliver calls out, “Come in.” Sharing one last look, they enter his office, surprised to see Nick already there. “Perfect. We’re just waiting on Mister Winchester—”

“Am I late?” Noah asks from the doorway. Trent smiles at the Ravenclaw quidditch captain.

“Not at all. Take a seat, all of you, please.”

“What’s the meeting about?” Emma asks once everyone is seated. Professor Oliver heaves a small sigh.

“As you all know, you are the quidditch team captains,” Trent begins. “We try to keep all of the captains in the same year so as to produce healthy rivalries and comradery, and one of your powers as captain is to remove team members with proper reasoning, with the player holding the power to argue said ejection.” He gestures to Nick, who looks smug. “Mx. Boomer is the first of you to use said power, ejecting Mister Thatcher from their team.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me on the pitch,” Nick explains, but Emma was there when he, Shelby and Kevin were talking about an altercation with Marcus before Transfiguration. “And during practice he constantly berates me and questions my authority. If I hadn’t done something, my whole team might have crashed and burned.”

“Marcus then chose to argue his rightful place. It’s standard practice to inform every captain when such an event occurs; we wish to cultivate sportsmanship and respect, not nepotism and corruption.” Professor Oliver nods to Nick again. “As you might gather, Mister Thatcher is no longer a part of the Gryffindor team, and Nick will be holding additional tryouts in the coming weeks. We will rearrange the game schedule to allow him time to decide and train their new team member. Does anyone object?”

“Good riddance,” Noah mutters, and Emma turns to him in surprised amusement. Apparently everyone else in the room copies her, because he holds up his hands. “We were all thinking it. I mean, come on, Marcus has been a jerk and bully for years. This is just Karma.”

“As a professor, I cannot approve of your thoughts,” Trent says carefully, then speaks quickly in a language Emma assumes is French, considering how similar some of the words sound to Shelby’s Spanish. Based on Noah’s smile, it was probably the professor agreeing. “If there are no objections,” Professor Oliver continues in English. “Then our meeting is done. You will receive the new game schedules in your mail in the coming weeks.”

***

Dear Alyssa, 

I heard Thatcher finally got ejected from the quidditch circuit! Good on y’all! I’m not even sorry to say it. That guy has always been the worst. Kyle was telling me the other day how awful he’s been to Nick, though I’m glad to hear they’re now Gryffindor quidditch captain. You know, I recommended you for captain, but the stupid prefects have priority. Tell Kaylee that I'm proud of her! 

I'll be keeping an eye on the Slytherin games; make me proud! 

Now, on to more pressing matters (LOL). I hear that you and Nolan are getting closer? If I were there, and this was a bad movie, this is where I throw popcorn at you and yell at you to get your head out of your ass. But, since I’m just an older brother, I’ll just say you take some time to think, yeah? 

My letters may be a little later in replies. Tutshill is circling to recruit me, and it’s super exciting. I’m trying to do all the training I can! 

Love you, kid. Stay safe. 

- Jules 

Alyssa grins at the letter. She was worried that she and Jules may lose touch after he left Hogwarts, but there’s no sign of such things. She knows that he’s keeping in contact with Emma, too, and she’s glad of that. They’ve even jokingly competed over who got more letters, only to find out that the man has been sending them on the exact same day with the exact same owl, probably to avoid such matters altogether. 

He really is like an older brother, always trying to keep the peace. 

She reads over the third paragraph, unsure — or maybe just trying to ignore — what he means. Sure, she and Emma are better friends than before, but it’s not like there’s anything more going on than that. 

Right? 

She ignores the question, tucking the letter away into her stack from her friend, making note to reply to it later tonight. She wants to hear all about the quidditch and Kyle — who Jules finally seems to have asked out, after having harbored a crush for several years — and anything else that her friend wants to share. 

Smiling, Alyssa can’t help but think how much she misses him, how different Hogwarts is without him, but she already has plans to see him this summer. 

Idly, she wonders if Emma is going too, and if maybe they should share a car to save on expense. She’ll bring it up next time she sees her. 

***

“I’ve been thinking… Angie’s a registered animagus,” Alyssa explains, walking into the Defense Against the Dark Arts room. “And she loves me. If anyone knows about this it’ll be her, and if she would tell anyone it would be me!”

Shelby, next to her, shakes her head. “I don’t doubt that Professor Dickinson will tell you, but you’re a terrible liar. She’ll know what we’re planning immediately.”

Alyssa scoffs, sitting down in her normal seat. “I’m a great liar, excuse you. I can do this!”

“You’re lying right now,” Shelby points out, and Alyssa curses internally.

Before she can prove that she can, in fact, lie, Angie starts class with her signature flair and high kick; no matter how many times she sees it, Alyssa is awed by her aunt’s flexibility.

After class ends, Alyssa shoos Shelby off eventually, finally succeeding by reminding her that she needs to sprint across the castle if she doesn’t want to wait until dinner to see Kevin again, and waits until the classroom empties before approaching Angie. “Hey, Profes— Aunt Angie,” She catches her habit before the blonde can give her an amused side-eye, which, in turn, earns her exactly that expression.

It’s only when she has her undivided attention that Alyssa realizes she didn’t prepare a line of questioning, or an excuse. She opens her mouth and prays for the best.

“Hypothetically,” She starts, internally cringing, “If one wanted to become an animagus — for an essay question,” Alyssa tacks on hastily, “Where would one find instructions? This essay is for… uh… History of Magic.”

Alyssa watches as Angie’s cycles through seven different emotions, among them grief and pride, before settling on a polite smile with a twinkle in her eyes. “I think the library would be a good place to begin your essay—” Okay, so Angie definitely knows she’s lying— “Little Falcon, though your study material might be in the Restricted Section.”

“Oh.” Alyssa tries to hide her deflation and loss of hope, but Angie knows her too well.

“Here,” She offers with a smile, “Let me write you a pass, as well as some book recommendations.” As Angie turns her back, Alyssa does a small victory dance — suck it, Shelby — but controls herself when the deputy headmistress turns back around. “Here you go.”

Alyssa steps forward to take the pass, but Angie uses her grip on the paper to lean forward and whisper in her ear.

“Next time you have questions, send Shelby.” She steps back with a smile, her face hinting nothing about what she just told Alyssa. “I hope your essay goes well,” Angie continues at a normal volume. “Now, don’t you have a class to get to?”

***

“Her name’s Winnie,” Nick summarizes. “She’s a third year, kinda small for her age, but she really knows how to fly and her size hides a good arm. I actually almost took her in normal tryouts, but took Hayden instead from Kaylee’s recommendation. I’m really excited to get to know Winnie, though!”

“I’m happy for you,” Shelby replies absentmindedly, staring at a blank wall as she paces down the hallway again. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m bored of staring at the mystery wall waiting for the mystery door that Greg and Kevin found to appear,” Nick complains. “Why is it us, by the way?”

“Kevin’s got prefect patrol,” Shelby explains, pacing a few steps to the right. She just needs there to be a door. “And if I brought him we would get… distracted.”

As she walks to the left, Nick rolls their eyes. “So why me? We just need this door to show up, right? Why not Alyssa?”

“Alyssa and Emma are having a Potions study session; Greg has his private session with Professor Dickinson, and Kaylee didn’t want to come,” Shelby lists as she paces again. 

Maybe she missed something?

“I didn’t want to come either,” Nick points out, before backing away sharply. “What the fuck?”

Shelby turns back to the wall before backing up as well. From nothing, a door is emerging, and her eyes light up. How did it know to emerge? Did they say a triggering incantation? Did she perform something ritualistic? How—

“Shelby, can you stop thinking so loudly and use the stupid magic door?” Nick interrupts her thoughts.

“Oh, right.”

***

“Winnie is really good, huh?” Alyssa asks, leaning against the doorframe, startling Emma from where she was packing up her things in the locker room. “Really lives up to how much Nick talks about her.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, shoving her gloves into her pack. “I kept hearing Thompson scores! every two seconds. If I hadn’t caught the snitch—” she starts, cutting herself off. For some reason, it feels like touting her accomplishment, and she doesn’t want to give Greene that impression. Not anymore. 

It’s a weird change that she’s found in the last few weeks, but she doesn’t have the time or the brain power to figure out exactly what it is, though the looks she’s getting from their respective friends are growing increasingly annoying. 

“If you hadn’t caught it, you would have lost,” Alyssa finishes for her. “Your team owes you one.” She wanders in, sitting beside Emma as the girl finishes dressing. 

Emma blushes despite herself, fixing up her tie, though her hands shake because of the cold. “Damn thing,” she whispers, going a deeper shade of scarlet. 

Alyssa laughs, reaching across the distance and pulling the knot into place gently. “There you go,” she whispers. “Good to know that even the game winning player has trouble with her tie,” she teases gently, pulling the skinny second piece down so that it’s more symmetrical. “Though I suppose it makes sense. The yellow and black combo is harder to look at, what with all the brightness, so it must be harder to get on than the green and silver, having to stare at it in the mirror and all—”

Emma gapes in surprise, trying not to grin. “Oh, that’s how it is? Going after house colors, now?” 

“Have to take all the shots I can,” Alyssa quips back, her hand still around the fabric. Her cheeks are red too. Idly, she can’t help but remember what Jules said in his letter. It suddenly makes sense. Her heart races. Maybe she’s known what he meant for longer than she’d like to admit. It’s just that now she’s staring it right in the face. 

Literally. Emma is pretty close to her. Her pulse picks up further, especially when the girl opens her mouth to speak. 

“Well, y’know, for somebody who sure doesn’t like the combo, you look rather good in it.” The Hufflepuff gestures to the scarf around Alyssa’s neck, grabbing one of the ends and tugging playfully to make a point. 

“It was this or support Gryffindor,” the girl jokes. “Which is never an option. Plus, the Hufflepuff seeker is kind of cute when she isn’t being unbearably boneheaded.” 

“You think I’m cute?” Emma asks, and where there would have been gentle teasing before is now only replaced by quiet wonder and hope. 

“I think you’re a lot of things,” Alyssa deflects, but she’s about as flushed as the Gryffindor banner that had been floating in the sky during the game. 

“Like what?” Emma whispers, heart pounding quick and rough in her chest. 

“Like annoying,” the Slytherin teases, before she softens. “And incredibly kind. And trustworthy.” She hesitates before whispering, “And I think you’re kind of adorable, when you’re not in a hospital bed after falling out of the sky.” 

“Are you ever going to let that go?” 

“Never,” Alyssa replies. 

“You’re the one who rushed to my side, if you believe the stories,” Emma laughs. “Something you want to tell me, Greene?” She means it in a half-joking manner, too afraid to actually ask what’s on both of their minds, but her eyes light up when Alyssa stops. 

“I actually—” she starts, gaze flickering across Emma’s face, down to her mouth for half a millisecond, her grip tightening on the yellow and black tie she’s so often made fun of—

“I can’t believe you caught it!” Kevin cries, bursting in. “I’ll never forgive you for this, Em!”

Alyssa snaps back, blushing furiously as she stands up, going to lean against the wall. She does her best to hide her disappointment.

Emma isn’t faring much better, her cheeks red and eyes wide. “Kevin! You’re in the girls’ locker room!”

“I waited until it was just you,” Kevin replies. “You’re always last, and I counted the number of players who left!” He grins, a little lopsided and completely endearing, totally missing what he almost walked in on between his two friends. “Process of elimination! Shelby taught it to me!”

“I don’t think that’s the right usage,” Emma mutters, and Alyssa snorts quietly at that, which only serves to make the blonde grin wider at her own joke. 

“Point is, I didn’t know Alyssa would be here!” Kevin defends, about to continue on a likely longer ramble when Shelby and Kaylee come bounding down the stairs.

“We tried to catch him,” Shelby apologizes to Alyssa quickly. “He wouldn’t listen.”

“What’s it matter?” her boyfriend asks, still oblivious. “If my friends are down here, then it’s not as if I’m infringing on any privacy.”

Kaylee rolls her eyes, studying both Emma and Alyssa, clearly registering the way they’re identically scarlet. “Nick and Greg are waiting for us,” she blurts out, trying to save both of them from any further embarrassment. 

“Then we should go,” Alyssa agrees first, pushing herself from the wall without looking back at Emma, whose hazel eyes are filled with a puppy-dog sort of longing that the girl they are directed at misses completely. “I’ll see you later, Em, okay?” 

Emma’s heart turns over at the nickname from her lips. “Y-yeah!” she calls. “See you later!” 

She too hears Jules’ voice, though it’s something more like, Gayyyyyyy. 

She waves, trying not to think too hard about how much he can say I told you so when she tells him about this, watching as Alyssa gathers her two-person entourage around her, waiting until she hears the footsteps on the metal staircase die out before she turns to Kevin. “I hate you so much.”

Ever oblivious, he can’t help it as his brow furrows in confusion. “What did I do?”

Chapter Text

“Professor?” Shelby calls into the greenhouse when she doesn’t immediately see the Herbology professor. “Hello?”

“Just a moment!” A response reaches her ears from the back corner, near the ground, and Shelby wanders down an aisle of the greenhouse towards Professor Glickman. 

He holds a hand up when she rounds the corner of a table and finally sees him, stopping when she sees the look of concern on his face. He’s fondling the leaves of a plant she doesn't recognize, tutting in distress as it droops against his hands. 

She watches as he pulls his wand out, tapping the stem of the plant. “Episkey Endura,” he mutters, and a stream of magic flows from the tip of his wand to the plant, even as he pulls the tip away. He lets the light flow for a few seconds as Shelby watches with wide eyes, breaking it with a swift flick of his wrist and a nod. Right there in front of her, the plant’s blackened and wilted stalk mends itself slowly until it seems to settle, standing up straighter. 

As he stands up, Shelby ignores the reason she came to him in the first place in place of the suddenly more pressing questions on her mind. “Was that a spell modifier? What does it do? Why didn’t we learn about it in our modification unit in Charms? Can I try?”

“You’ve got a good eye,” Barry says, smiling at the girl. “Good ears, too. Yes, that was a spell modifier: Endura. It lengthens the endurance of a shortcast spell,” he explains. “Though it can affect longcast and focus spells, like a patronus, it’s impractical in those contexts. Endura is most effective when paired with spells like Episkey, Protego, or Stupefy, as they are shortcast and quick to dissipate, and there’s little to no focus required during the spell’s lifespan.”

Shelby drinks the new information in, following her Head of House as he moves across the glass building he calls a classroom. “It sounds versatile,” she observes. “Why don’t we learn about it?”

“We don’t teach it here because it’s a drain, especially for younger mages,” Barry explains. “If used improperly — too long, or when the caster doesn’t have enough stamina — it can cause more harm than good. The Ministry is still fighting administration over teaching you kids Maxima ; they certainly wouldn’t want us to have fainting mages on our hands.”

“You make it sound like that’s happened before,” Shelby muses.

Barry smiles sadly. “It was before my tenure,” he explains. “Just after I graduated as a student. The Ministry pulled Endura from the curriculum immediately, because the kid who fainted had a parent with a lot of power in the Wizengamot.”

“Nepotism,” Shelby mutters the word angrily. It always comes back to nepotism preventing her from learning something; she’s voiced such things to her friends before.

“I understand entirely,” her professor says. “Luckily,” he continues “though we lost Endura in the curriculum, I happen to know that Mister Delilla kept a few textbooks explaining the modifier in the Restricted Section. Just look for outdated Charms textbooks, and you should be able to look into it more.” With a wink, the Ravenclaw sits down at the only non-dirt-caked table in the greenhouse, pointing for her to join him. “Now, I assume you came here to ask me questions about Herbology, not Charms, yes?”

***

“Why must wasabi look like clay?” Greg rambles, pulling Alyssa’s attention from her Animagi book. They’re alone in the still-unnamed mystery room, doing homework and trying to figure out more about the room. Everyone’s been taking turns within the room, in various configurations of the seven of them. Alyssa is seated at a magically conjured table, while Greg is laid out across a couch. “I simply want to manipulate it like play-doh, is that so wrong?”

“What even is wasabi?” Alyssa asks. 

Greg makes a vague gesture with his hand. “It’s that spicy green paste that comes with that Japanese food Shelby and Kevin showed us, sushi.” She doesn’t have time to say that she already knows what sushi is before he gasps, sitting upright with a stupid grin. “Spicy play-doh!”

Alyssa stares at him in exasperation. “Why do I tolerate you?” She asks with no anger.

“You’re in love with my cousin,” Greg answers quickly.

“I am not in lo—” Alyssa cuts herself off, cheeks burning. “That’s ridiculous.” 

Greg gives her a tired look. “Stop trying to lie to a mindreader.”

Oh. Right. Alyssa crosses her arms. “I thought you had a better handle on when you read minds?”

“Yeah, normal thoughts,” Greg explains. “But big emotions or really loud thoughts kinda cut through that. And you feel a lot about her.”

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Greg dismisses. “You can’t really stop that unless you learn how to make mental shields.”

Alyssa chuckles humorlessly for a moment before an idea comes to her. “Then teach me.”

“What?”

“Everyone can learn Occlumency, right?” Greg nods, and Alyssa repeats herself. “Teach me.”

“Woah,” Greg holds up his hands, “Calm down. I’m still learning this stuff myself, and we focus more on my Legilimency since it’s more rare and needs more practice—”

“But think about it,” Alyssa argues. “Imagine if everyone in our group knew Occlumency, or the basics of mental shields. You could hang out with us with less fear of accidentally hearing — sensing? — something you don’t want to know, and with the rise in death eater activity and hate crimes against muggleborns, it might keep people we care about safe.”

“What?” Greg just looks confused.

“Legilimens are rare, but what makes you think that You-Know-Who doesn’t have one on his side? Or worse, what if he is a Legilimens?” Alyssa posits. “The better we can protect our friends, the longer they can fight for themselves.”

Greg thinks for a moment. “That… that makes sense.” He looks up at her. “I still don’t know if I can teach you anything helpful, yet.”

“I’ll learn as you learn,” she shrugs. “Plus, while I practice my shielding you can practice your prying.”

“I thought the point of this was so that I wouldn’t  learn more about your crush on Emma?” Greg teases, and Alyssa glares at him. “Fine, fine. Jeez.”

***

“Did you see who made it to the quarter-finals for the league?” Emma asks, making conversation as she and Alyssa walk together back from Potions. 

“Harpies, Falcons, Puddlemere, and Magpies, yeah,” Alyssa laughs. “Go Falcons!” 

“I’m a Puddlemere fan myself, but I’ll take it,” the Hufflepuff jokes, bumping shoulders with her to let her know that she’s joking. 

“At least you’re not a Harpies fan,” the girl teases, and Emma grins. 

“Oh, never.” Emma laughs, running a hand through her hair. 

For a moment, they stop. Alyssa is heading upstairs, and Emma outside, but neither of them is sure what to say next. 

Ever since the quidditch match where Alyssa wandered into the locker room, ever since they had a little moment, it’s been slightly awkward and mostly giddy, the perfect kind of crush that neither of them have experienced before. 

Alyssa bites her lip around a smile, noticing that Emma is staring. “I should go,” she says quietly. 

“I should too,” Emma admits, taking a step back towards the door before students come rushing in and she’s forced back towards Alyssa. 

“Dementors!” a seventh year yells. “Lowerclassmen, get back!” He waves his arms, directing the first, second, and third years to move behind the staircase, himself and the older kids drawing their wands. “I don’t know how to close the front, but for now, what the professor taught us, yeah?” he instructs. 

His classmates nod, and Alyssa and Emma watch as light flies from his wand, a cat seemingly made of warmth and stars bounding through the air, scratching at the space that the dementors are trying to occupy and effectively pushing some of them back. 

A few other animals start to do the same: a stag, a puppy, an eagle. 

“Holy shit,” Alyssa mumbles.

“What?” Emma asks, turning to her. 

“Those are corporeal patronuses,” Alyssa breathes, in awe. 

***

Emma laughs at Nick when the paper airplane he enchanted hits his face. Kevin snorts from next to them, and Greg rolls his eyes at the Gryffindor’s antics.

“You know,” Professor Dickinson muses from the front of the room. “There’s a reason I usually keep this lesson until after break.” As the class settles down, Angie flips the board over and reveals one word pre-written in chalk: Patronus. “Can anyone guess why?”

“To keep us engaged?” Greg guesses.

Angie tilts her head to him. “In part. Anyone else want to hazard a guess?”

The room is silent, but Angie doesn’t seem upset. 

“Patronuses are easier to cast when you’re happier. I find that beginning in an optimal setting — a classroom just after holiday with less stress about homework — is a good time to grasp the basics of Patronuses.” Angie paces a little as she lectures, board filling with notes in its usual manner. 

As they briefly talk about the history of the spell and its applications, Emma takes notes diligently, knowing why Professor Dickinson moved this lesson up in the curriculum, trying her best to banish the memories, the mocking of her parents, the fall—

“With that out of the way,” the professor breaks through a rapidly darkening spiral of thoughts, and Emma pointedly ignores the concerned glance of her cousin. “Push the desks to the walls; we’re jumping straight into practical.”

The classroom fills with chatter and the scraping of the tables and chairs against the ground as Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors alike prepare themselves for everyone’s favorite part of Defense Against the Dark Arts: actually casting the spells.

Emma and Greg stand together and Kevin and Nick join them. Cynthia Jones, from across the room, waves at the group; as game announcer she knows Emma and Nick from quidditch, and Kevin and Greg are prefects with her, so they’re all friendly. 

The classroom begins to quiet as Emma nudges Nick’s side and points her out. She stifles a laugh when a dopey grin spreads across their face and they wave back at Cynthia, who smiles at them.

She’s just about to tease him when Angie re-focuses the room. “You all know the drill; incantation first. Expecto Patronum.” The class repeats the words a few times, like they always do, until Angie thinks they know it enough. “I’ll take it. Wands out. Now, this motion is a single spiral, clockwise and outward.” She narrates as she demonstrates the motion. “Lefties, as always, the motion is counter-clockwise for you.”

As the professor goes around the room and corrects any blatant movement mistakes, small talk starts back up. Everyone in the room knows by now when they’re allowed to talk and when they need to focus, and Professor Dickinson is very good at allowing at least one chance a class to chatter. Once Angie thinks that their group is good — with only a minor correction on elbow placement for Kevin, like always — and moves on, Emma turns to Nick with a teasing grin. “Your crush is getting out of control.”

“Pot, meet Kettle,” Nick retorts with a blush. Emma’s grin slides off of her face.

“Wh— I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mutters.

Nick snorts. “Please. At least I can admit that I like Cynthia. Just make out with Greene and get it over with.”

“Please, God, just admit you like her,” Greg interjects in a tired tone. “The only stuff I hear from you now is about how pretty she is.”

“I do not like Alyssa!” Emma lies.

Greg levels a look at her. “Shall I list the aspects of her that you’ve daydreamed about today? To begin—”

“I think we can put this spell together,” Angie’s voice saves Emma from turning into a human tomato. “We’re not looking for corporeal patronuses today; we’ll work on that through break and into January. If you can get a corporeal form before break, however, you’ll earn points for your house.”

The focus in the room triples at the promise. 

“The last component,” Angie begins, “is a happy memory. Or many. The better the memory, the stronger the patronus. You don’t have to explain your memory to anyone else, either. This is for you.”

Emma runs through a few happy memories in her head. Talking about plants, singing in Frog Choir, laughing with her friends, standing in the locker room with Alyssa--

“Expecto Patronum!” Angie spins her wand and a white cat springs from the tip, landing lightly on its feat amid a chorus of oohs. Emma recognizes the cat as the Professor’s animagus form, recalling that Shelby’s research claimed that while animagi forms and patronuses aren’t always the same, it can occur. 

The translucent cat jumps onto Angie’s shoulder and settles down as Angie surveys the room. “Well? Get to casting!”

***

“Who here managed to get corporeal before break?” Nick asks, closing the compartment door and re-claiming his seat.

Greg, on the floor despite Kaylee’s protests, shakes his head. “Not me.”

“I bet mine’s a snake,” Kaylee muses, “But no proof, yet.”

“I tried my best.” Kevin shrugs. “I bet it’s my elbows again.”

“It’s always your elbows,” Alyssa teases.

The boy pouts good naturedly. 

“I got corporeal,” Shelby mentions, nose-deep in a book about Animagi. “Got a fox.”

“Mine’s a dog!” Emma announces. “Can't quite tell the breed, but I think it’s a golden retriever.”

“Happy-go-lucky as you are,” Greg teases, hands already up to defend against an inevitable kick from his cousin. “Why are you kicking me? I’m right!”

“That’s why I’m kicking you,” Emma replies with a smile, and Alyssa has to remind herself to breathe. 

Greg nudges her leg, and she blinks hard to return to reality. “What about you, ‘Lys? Go corporeal?”

“Not yet,” she groans, throwing her head back in frustration. “And I was so close, too! I think I finally found the right vein of memories to draw on, though.” 

She vacillates between two, if she’s honest: one that she remembers of her father, and one, admittedly secret one, of her and Emma. It isn’t happy, exactly, but it’s them -- that moment in the greenhouse gardens where they really spoke for the first time. It’s warm, and thinking on it produced the strongest bit of light from her wand yet. 

“Oh,” Emma’s voice breaks through her thoughts, and Alyssa’s gaze finds hers with surprising ease. “Am I better in Defense, too?” Her tone is teasing, and a smile plays at her lips, but Alyssa’s heart skips a beat anyways.

“Absolutely not,” she manages to keep any hint of the mess that’s her insides from her voice. “It just means you found the right memory first.”

“Which means I’m better,” Emma replies in a sing-song voice.

Alyssa rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“I thought we grew past this rivalry?” Kaylee groans.

Nugget croaks from Emma’s lap, and Royce hisses from Kaylee’s. 

Maybe they were having a conversation?

“Oh, you can talk to frogs now?” Kaylee says to the snake, answering Alyssa’s silent question. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“You might learn how, too, Klein,” Nick teases.

The horror that fills the parselmouth’s face at the thought brings everyone to laughter, thoughts of patronuses and school work dissipating with the train smoke as they head home for winter break.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Uncle Barry,” Alyssa starts, and the Herbology professor looks up in alarm at her tone.

“Oh God. Who’s injured?” he asks in a panic, and Alyssa quickly backtracks.

“No— No one’s injured. I just have a question. Purely hypothetical, of course,” she clarifies. Sticking to the explanation that Shelby helped her build, Alyssa continues. “So, for the purpose of an essay, if we needed mature mandrake leaves… is there anything different between those and adolescent mandrake leaf harvesting?”

Barry, who has always been worse at hiding his thoughts, mutters something that mostly sounds like Danny would kill me before taking a deep breath and moving towards the mandrakes in the back corner of the greenhouse. “There’s nothing different about the harvesting process,” he begins, handing Alyssa a pair of gardening gloves and headphones, “But the key is knowing when a leaf is mature, dying, or adolescent.” 

He keeps talking, Alyssa paying attention when he shows her the leaves side by side, even watching as she pulls a few leaves herself. After she gathers four leaves, Barry reaches out and pulls three more with a practiced hand, dropping them into her collection with a wink. 

“I hope that will help with your essay,” he finishes. “Thanks for visiting, Falcon. I know you prefer Defense Against the Dark Arts…”

“Yeah,” Alyssa laughs lightly. “This stuff is more Emma’s speed.”

“Emma, huh?” Barry teases. “Not Nolan?”

“We’re friends now,” Alyssa explains, praying that her warm cheeks won’t show for him.

He gives her a knowing look, and remembers that he knows her too well. “I’m glad you two are friends.”

“Me too.”

They stand in a comforting silence for a moment, before Alyssa clears her throat. “I should probably get back to the castle; curfew, and all.”

“Of course,” Barry nods. “I won’t keep you. Oh, and Lyssie?”

She smiles at the old nickname, pausing in her journey. 

“Send Shelby the next time you have a question.”

Mentally, Alyssa groans. 

Outwardly, she nods. “Will do.”

***

Emma suspiciously eyes the leaf that Shelby has just placed in her hand. No matter how she looks at it, it didn’t get any more appetizing. Having a mandrake leaf in her mouth is an experience that she is not hasty to repeat. 

Kaylee wears a similar expression. “Exactly how long do you have to keep this in your mouth?”

“Three months,” Alyssa responds quickly, letting the mandrake leaf fall from her right hand to her left and back again.

Kaylee brings it up to her nose and sniffs it, only to pull it away immediately. “Yeah, not worth it!” She dropped the leaf back in the bowl in the center of their circle. “I’ll stick with only having a pet snake. I don’t need to be one.”

Shelby leans over to whisper in Alyssa’s ear, speaking loudly enough that her voice carries. “She decided this a month ago, but wanted to be included so she could make the speech.”

“Don’t expose me,” Kaylee elbows Shelby in the arm but doesn’t look mad. It makes everyone laugh, including Kaylee.

As soon as the laughter dies out, the seriousness of what they’re about to do falls upon the group as everyone’s attention is drawn back to the leaves. Emma is thankful for the small moment of levity, because she doesn’t feel as worried when she looks at the leaf that will make or break their plan.

“We’re all going to put the leaves in our mouths at the same time, so that it’s easy to keep track of when you can take them out,” Shelby draws everyone’s attention, going over the plan they’ve been working on for months. “You can back out whenever.”

Emma exchanges a private look with Alyssa. Neither of them are going to back out; the rivalry may be over in school, but there's nothing like animagi to reignite the competitive spark.

“Everyone ready?” Shelby asks. Everyone nods, so she continues. “Three, two, one… go!”

They all stick the leaves in their mouths and Emma does her best to push past the initial bitter taste that slowly gives way to a sweetness that’s far more pleasant.

***

“This leaf has been in my mouth for an eternity,” Kevin complains, following Alyssa into the potions classroom. They’re going on two months of the mandrake leaves, and Alyssa is inclined to agree.

“One of these days I’m just going to surrender. I miss brushing my teeth and eating food without having to consciously think about what's happening in my mouth,” Greg says, sliding into his seat at the table.

Alyssa snorts while next to her Emma looks a bit green. “That was a horrible way to phrase that.”

“We just have to get through another month,” Alyssa says, trying to convince herself as well as her friends. She isn’t about to give up and let Emma win, but she is planning to eat as much cake as possible on the day they finally get to spit out the leaves.

“Sit down and shut up,” Professor Allen says, her usual opener for the class. “Today we are–” she pauses as she takes in the table they’re sitting at. “Shields, what on earth are you doing here?”

Kevin picks his head up where he had been hiding behind the table and smiles innocently. “This is my class?”

Alyssa hides a laugh behind her hand at the outraged expression on Professor Allen’s face, while next to her Greg is laughing so hard he’s nearly falling off the stool.

Professor Allen glares at Kevin, and he sinks down until he’s nearly under the table (again). “Get out.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Kevin scurries out of the class, keeping ten feet between himself and the professor. As soon as he’s out the door, Professor Allen’s glare shifts to the laughing students, and it goes abruptly silent. Alyssa tries to look like she’s taking notes, staring resolutely at her empty parchment.

“Is there anyone else who wants to be funny? I can do this all day.” Unfortunately, that was the moment that Greg, still laughing silently, lost his grip on the table and tumbled to the ground on the aisle between desks.

“Really, Nolan?” Professor Allen asks, walking forward to stand right in front of where Greg is sprawled on the ground.

Greg takes a few deep breaths, clearly winded from his collision with the hard stone and offers a charming smile at Professor Allen. “I lost my balance.”

Alyssa begins doodling a heart on her parchment, doing her best not to stare at Emma whose attention is luckily on the disaster happening on the ground.

“Stand up, you fool,” Professor Allen says, despite the fact that Alyssa is pretty sure fool is not on the allowed list of things for teachers to call students.

Greg scrambles to his feet. “Sorry, Professor Allen.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Professor Allen starts to turn back to the board and Alyssa lets out a sigh of relief that’s abruptly cut off when Professor Allen spins back around, something having caught her eye. “Is there something in your mouth, Mr. Nolan?”

Everyone at their table freezes and Greg looks like a deer in headlights. “Uh…” He looks to Emma, who shrugs. “...No?”

“Was that a question?” Professor Allen stares, unimpressed, at Greg whose face is rapidly turning white.

“No.” Greg sounds slightly more confident this time, but the bar is low.

“Open your mouth.” Professor Allen waves at him, then when he doesn’t immediately comply, pulls out her wand. “I will not have students eating in my classroom.”

Greg shoots one last look at the table and Alyssa waves her hands in what is supposed to be a make something up gesture. “I can’t.”

“Mr. Nolan, this is a serious safety risk, and frankly disrespectful. Open your mouth!”

Greg swallows and opens his mouth.

“Hmph,” Professor Allen turns back to the board. “Maybe do that first next time.”

Emma leans over to whisper in Alyssa’s ear. “Did he just… swallow the leaf?”

Alyssa sighs, knowing full well where this is going. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Emma’s hand shoots up fast enough that Alyssa nearly falls off the stool in surprise when the hand passes her face. “Professor Allen, I need to take Greg to the infirmary.”

***

Weirdly enough, when you show up at the infirmary in the middle of the day, say you swallowed a mandrake leaf, and immediately collapse on a bed, the healer on duty has a lot of questions. Emma does her best to spin a realistic story while Greg lies groaning in the bed, but Madame Keating clearly isn’t buying it.

“So you’re saying he tripped—” she asks again, as if trying to catch Emma in a lie. Emma nods confidently and Greg groans again— “In the Herbology room and fell?” Emma nods again. “And when he fell, he landed on a mandrake, and accidentally swallowed one of the leaves?” 

“Yes,” Emma says, as if that isn’t the worst cover story she’s ever created. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Okay. Let the record show I don’t believe you.” Madame Keating rubs her eyes, and sighs loudly. “But I’ve learned it’s better to just not ask questions at this school, so sure. Why not? He tripped and fell on a mandrake in Herbology while he was supposed to be in Potions.”

“Thank you,” Emma says. Greg groans loudly from the bed. “He thanks you too,” she translates.

“Please take him out of my infirmary. He can skip classes for the rest of the day, and the symptoms should be gone tomorrow since I gave him the potion so soon.”

“You’ll never see us again,” Emma agrees, pulling Greg off the bed and propping him up on her shoulder.

“I wish,” Madame Keating grumbles, slamming the door behind them.

***

“And that’s how Greg backed out,” Emma summarizes to the rest of her friends that night. They’re all sitting in a circle on the floor of the Hufflepuff common room, empty thanks to an event being held in the Astrology tower, while Greg suffers in his dorm trying to sleep off his symptoms. “He didn’t want to have to make up all the lost time.”

“And we’re down to five now?” Shelby asks, looking around the group.

“Actually,” Nick speaks, quiet. “It’s four.”

Shelby frowns. “Nick?” 

When did they lose their leaf?

“I took it out. I don’t… I don’t want to see what my form is.” He shrinks into himself, and Alyssa rubs his back. She must know more of their reasoning, what they aren’t saying, but Shelby has learned over the years when to hold in her curiosity, how to approach a touchy subject carefully.

“Why?” Kaylee, however, has not.

Nick takes a breath, two, before reluctantly answering. “I learned that my dad was an animagus. A tiger.”

Shelby remembers what he and Alyssa told them about his dad, remembers that weird thing Professor Dickinson told them. A tiger can't change his stripes. “You’re scared that you’ll be a tiger, too. That you’ll be like him.”

The group falls silent for a moment.

“You’re not your dad,” Kevin says.

“I know!” Nick snaps, deflating immediately. “I know. But I don’t want to take the chance.”

Shelby nods. “So, we’re down to four.”

*** 

“I still can’t believe you managed to get Professor Glickman to let you have three electives, and that you haven’t dropped any of them,” Kaylee huffs out as she finally gets up into the Divination classroom.

“And I—” Shelby pants in after her— “Still can’t believe you get winded coming up here, Miss Team Captain.”

“Most of our game is on a broom,” Kaylee defends. “And running is punishment.”

“Whatever,” Shelby mutters, shifting the leaf around in her mouth. “I just want to be done with this class so I can get to my date with Kevin.”

“Right,” Kaylee mutters in a tone that Shelby has honestly never heard her use before.

Before she can ask her friend about it, however, Professor Strickland slams the trapdoor closed and begins class in his normal manner. 

“Another beautiful Valentine’s Day,” he starts, just as a crack of thunder sounds and the grey clouds outside finally let loose a downpour. “Ah, well… a beautiful day to stay inside!” He waves his hands, revealing a pack of cards from nowhere— or his sleeve. “And, as I always do on this wonderful day, I will begin class with a reading for my love life.”

Shelby rolls her eyes, but Kaylee audibly groans next to her. “I forgot about his V-Day class,” she mutters. “I would have skipped if I remembered about his love readings.”

“Don’t want to be reminded of how single you are?” Shelby mutters back, masking their conversation with the steady patter of rain. 

“Something like that,” Kaylee replies, but Professor Strickland gasps before Shelby can ask about that.

“How unfortunate,” he bemoans. “My date will go nowhere tonight.”

His groupies, who sit near the front, rush to console him, but he grabs all of his cards before straightening up. “We’re going back to the basics of tea leaves today for all of your readings on this wonderful day of love. Please gather your materials and focus on love during your drinks today!”

Everyone loves the tea days. It’s an excuse to gossip and drink a pretty good blend before pretending to see the images you want and to yell about them when Professor Strickland comes around to everyone’s tables.

However, Kaylee doesn’t really seem in the mood to gossip, leaving Shelby to stare at her friend with worry between sips, textbook open to the Love in Tea diagrams. 

Just as Shelby gathers the courage to ask her what’s wrong, Kaylee finishes her tea and pulls Shelby’s textbook closer to her. After switching her gaze between the book and her cup a few times, she deflates. “Of course,” she mutters.

“What’d you get?” Shelby takes the opportunity to try and talk to her friend.

“Stupid tortoise. Slow and steady,” she mocks the book. Before she can continue, Professor Strickland takes Kaylee’s tea cup from her grip.

“May I?” He asks, before glancing into her cup and inhaling sharply. “A fox and a wolf, curling around each other; Miss Klein, trickery and trouble are coming to your love life.”

Kaylee’s eyes widen, and she grabs her cup back from the Divination professor. “No! No… I didn’t see those, so it’s not necessarily true, right? You’ve said it before, Professor.”

Professor Strickland smiles and nods at her. “That I have, Miss Klein. Five points to Slytherin for recalling such a vital piece of information.” He turns to Shelby, next. “And what about yours, Miss Gonzales?”

“Oh,” Shelby starts, finishing the rest of her tea quickly. “Let’s see…”

Huh.

Shelby frowns, squinting at her leaves. Maybe if she looks harder she’ll see something?

“Something the matter, Miss Gonzales?” Her professor asks gently, and Shelby nods.

“Yeah, I… There’s nothing in my leaves,” she explains, offering her cup to her professor to verify. “Maybe it’s because I have a boyfriend?”

As Professor Strickland takes a turn frowning at her leaves, Kaylee furrows her brow. “Wouldn’t that mean you’d get a positive reading like last year?”

“Both are possibilities,” Professor Strickland comments, handing Shelby her cup back. “The magic of Divination can be fickle and inconsistent. Stay after class, Miss Gonzales, and we’ll try to get a proper read. You’re not in trouble,” he assures with a smile before moving on to other tables, leaving Shelby and Kaylee to exchange confused glances.

***

“I’m gonna be late to our study session,” Kaylee groans as the rest of the class files out of the trapdoor one at a time.

“You don’t have to stay,” Shelby reminds the Slytherin. “Besides, since when did you care about studying?”

“Since it’s become a chance to rib Alyssa on her crush on Emma when she’s right there,” Kaylee replies, eyes alight with mischief. “And of course I’m staying; why wouldn’t I stay?”

“I mean…” Shelby debates bringing it up or not, but decides not to. “Nevermind.”

“Miss Gonzales,” Professor Strickland calls her over, and Kaylee sits back down at a nearby table. “Let’s see if this reading goes better, hm?”

“I really don’t know what went wrong,” Shelby explains while she pours her tea. “I did everything right—”

“And, sometimes, the universe deems that you aren’t meant to learn of your future,” her professor interrupts with a smile. “I don’t hold it against you, dear.”

Shelby smiles, ducking her head a little to take a sip. 

The tea should be spreading warmth through her, but suddenly, there’s an epic kind of chill in the room, swirling in the pit of her stomach, over her head, as if all the shutters have been closed on a sunroom, as if rain has suddenly collected in the sky after days, weeks, of sun. 

Her eyes scan the room for the culprit of such things, the mug still clasped against both of her palms when a startling, vice-like grip on her wrist shocks her enough to drop the porcelain, shattering it and spilling the amber liquid across the carpet as she cries out in surprise.

“Professor Strickland?!” she asks, heart pounding in her chest in every way that’s unpleasant. 

“Hey!” Kaylee yells. “Let her go!”

Shelby looks up at her Professor and screams. His eyes—

He opens his mouth and a voice that is not his speaks, low and echoey, gravelly and forlorn.

“Seven are young and an Eighth grows old,
With power to vanquish the Dark Lord foretold.
Blood of all kinds gather Seven together
And finding the Eighth is a storm one must weather.
Love between Foes becomes linking thread
And all must stand strong, if none become dead.
Seven from Seven of months separated;
Let clocks rewind to discover what's hated.
Seven are young and an Eighth grows old,
With power to vanquish the Dark Lord foretold.”

The last words fall from the man’s throat and the faint wind that rushed around the room clears as he finally blinks.

Shelby is frozen in shock while Professor Strickland comes back to himself, looking around the room carefully, seemingly unaware of the sudden speech. “Oh, my dears,” he murmurs. “What have I said?”

“I—” Shelby starts, trying to adjust her hair but stopping at the continued grip on her arm. Professor Strickland releases her quickly with an apology, and Shelby takes a moment to stop her hands from shaking. “You— you said a… a poem to us?”

“It sounded… scary,” Kaylee adds, and Strickland’s face pales.

“A prophecy,” he breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face, over his stubble. “I’ve just given you a prophecy.”

Chapter Text

The group is silent as Shelby and Kaylee finish recounting their story.

“So that’s why you canceled date night,” Kevin comments absentmindedly, and Alyssa smacks him. “Hey!”

“Concentrate,” she hisses out.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

Nick raises his hand like they’re in class, and the Room re-adjusts to give them some desks and a whiteboard. “Could you repeat the prophecy again? I missed, like, half of it.”

Shelby rolls her eyes and lets Kaylee deal with him while she turns around and writes the prophecy out on one half of the new board. It’s impossible for her to forget even a syllable; after all, she’s going to have nightmares about her professor’s face for weeks.

After she’s written out the ten lines and Kaylee’s done yelling at Nick, she steps back from the board and passes out a marker to everyone. “We’re working on this together. Anyone have any ideas what any of this is talking about?”

“The Dark Lord is probably You-Know-Who,” Greg suggests. “Isn’t that one of his nicknames?”

Shelby writes Voldemort on the board and rolls her eyes at the gasps from all of the purebloods. “You only give his name power if you refuse to say it. Grow up.”

“Sorry,” Alyssa mutters, despite only being a halfblood.

The Room grows quiet, and Shelby throws her arms out in frustration. “Really? No one has any ideas?”

“Hey, wait,” Nick pipes up. “My birthday is August seventh.”

“And? Mine’s December seventh,” Shelby replies. “What does that have to do with—”

“My birthday is June seventh,” Alyssa interrupts, eyes wide. She stands up abruptly, striding to the whiteboard and jotting down everyone’s names and the birthdays that everyone’s already said. “Wait, when are all of our birthdays?”

“October seventh,” Greg states.

“January seventh!” Kevin supplies.

“March seventh…” Kaylee trails off, turning to Emma.

The blonde’s face is pale in realization. “February seventh.”

Alyssa writes down everyone’s birthdays before pointing at the prophecy. “ Seven of Seven of months separated, ” she reads. “Seventh of the month. Seven of us.”

“The prophecy’s about us?” Emma nearly whispers.

Shelby swallows, careful of her mandrake leaf. “I sure hope not.”

***

The prophecy messes with their heads. All of them. 

It’s hard to think about school, or about OWLS, or really anything, now that the knowledge of a destiny that could belong to them seems to follow them wherever they go.

It’s all they can seem to talk about, think about, even breathe about. Even at times where they try to purposefully get their minds off of it, it seems to cloud every judgement.

Kaylee groans, flopping onto the plush carpet the Room of Requirement has given them this time, as compared to the last time where the floor was just a bit too hard. 

“Why can’t we do something fun?” she complains. “This stupid prophecy makes it so I can’t even focus during class.”

“Did you focus on class before?” Alyssa quips, which makes the others snicker. 

“I tried before, at least,” Kaylee fights back. “Now, I can only think about the damn lines of this stupid thing! I’ve always hated poetry too.”

“Poetry is the best!” Shelby replies. “I forget you purebloods never had classes where you learned to analyze them for symbols ‘n’ all. That was some of the best stuff ever. Maybe if I use that, we can figure out what this thing is about!”

“Is she always this nerdy?” Nick grumbles, shrinking immediately when the Ravenclaw glares at him. “Sorry. Shelby, go on.”

Shelby grins with playful smugness, taking a step to the whiteboard and writing out the prophecy that has basically become tattooed on the inside of her brain. “I just think that if we get this out of the way, maybe we can all be a little more at ease.” 

“What, once we know for sure that we have to fight Moldy Voldy?” Emma calls from where she’s putting the finishing touches on a song she’s writing and staring at Alyssa when she thinks nobody is looking. 

“I can’t believe you call him that,” Greg mumbles to himself, huffing a little. “But same. How is knowing what we have to do going to help us? For that matter, how will it help if we know it’s not us, and there are people out there who will have to?”

“At least we’ll know,” Kevin interjects, defending his girlfriend and in clear agreement. “I’d rather know.” 

“Thank you, Kev.” Shelby smiles at him.

Kevin grins back, clearly glad to lift her spirits even slightly. 

***

“We’ve been at it for hours!” Greg whines, rubbing his eyes. “What more could we get from it?”

“Who’s the eighth?!” Shelby cries for probably the fortieth time, leaning her head against the board, as if it’ll give her some sort of knowledge. “Who is it?!” 

“You’ve asked that so much,” Alyssa chimes in, more kindly than Greg. “At least we know we’re the seven!” she supplies, trying to be positive. “And the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is pretty promising!” She stands up, grabbing one of the extra markers and underlining the next line, clearly having an idea. “Blood of all kinds—” 

“Wait,” Emma interrupts, a thought suddenly hitting her. She raises her hand. “Do you remember what the Sorting Hat said at the beginning of the year?” She visibly wracks her brain. “Blood is only blood!” she reminds. “The shortest thing is life!” 

Excitement is clear on her face as she stands up for the first time, taking the marker from Alyssa, brushing past her gently, a hand on the small of her back. For a moment, they freeze, and everybody watches in faint amusement before Emma coughs and starts to write. 

“Blood of all kinds… that’s us, too,” she points out, scrawling. “But not just because of our lineage,” she murmurs to herself. “Our houses. The lives we’ve led.” She skips a few lines. “And all must stand strong, sounds a lot like for our walls will crumble from within,” she highlights, circling it and making a note. “I’m getting weird vibes, guys. Do you think the Sorting Hat could sense something?” 

“It’s— he’s?— they’re?— What' re the Hat’s pronouns?” Nick stutters before giving up. “Nevermind. Point is, the Hat is as old as Merlin himself. It probably knows about this stuff.”

“It also said there was darkness out there, and asked us to come together because of it,” Kaylee adds, looking up from where she was lying face down on one of the couches. “Dark and strife or something?” 

“That’s also true,” Emma agrees, still writing. “And if we look deeper,” she adds, drawing a line from the seven from seven of months separated. “When was it that Moldy went into hiding?” she asks, though it seems she already knows the answer. 

“Stop calling him moldy,” Greg groans. 

“It’s Moldy as in proper!” Emma bickers. “It’s funny!” she looks around. “Does nobody else think it’s funny?”

“I think it’s funny,” Alyssa assures, which gathers several coughs of simp that are muffled by hands or elbows over the mouth when she glares around at her friends. “Anyway, Emma, what are you getting at?” 

“I did some research,” Emma fills in. “And the year he went into hiding…. Well, it happens to be the year we were all born.”

The realization sucks all the air out of the room.

***

“Come on, this prophecy is all the more reason to become animagi!” Shelby tells her two friends as she picks them up from quidditch practice. “I’ve been thinking and looking at the weather, and I think that the time for a storm is coming soon.” 

“You’re acting like I’m not already convinced,” Alyssa points out, tapping her cheek where the mandrake leaf has been sitting for so long that she can’t remember what it’s like to have an empty mouth. 

“I’m just saying,” Shelby replies while Kaylee wordlessly switches spots so that her two friends can walk next to each other and discuss the plan. “We’ll need to get everybody together for that night, right? And now we have a real reason why this is on our top priorities list.”

“You know what’s on my top priorities list?Brushing my teeth,” Alyssa jokes. “So yes, I agree. You want me to pass along the message to whoever I see? Kaylee too?” 

Shelby nods. “It should be in the next few days. We have to do this if we stand any chance of filling the shoes the prophecy deems that we can. Otherwise, what do we have?”

Her best friends nod. “Okay,” they say at the same time. “We’ll spread the word.”

“Tell them Thursday or Friday, depending,” the Ravenclaw instructs. “Whenever everybody’s more open.” 

“I’ll take the ‘Puffs,” Alyssa volunteers. 

“You know, if you want to talk to Emma, you can just say,” Kaylee teases while Shelby snickers. 

Alyssa groans. “Fine. Do you want the ‘Puffs?”

“No, no. Talk to your girl.” Kaylee pokes her friend in the ribs. 

Pulling her hood over her head to hide her face, Alyssa tries not to blush as she snaps, “She’s not my girl!” 

“Not yet,” Shelby sings. “Just tell her to meet us at the Room when you get the chance between mooning over each other.”

“We don’t moon!” Alyssa cries. 

***

Lightning crackles overhead. Just as Shelby predicted, the pre-spring storm season is pulling through. 

For the past few weeks, they’ve waited, the four remaining placing their vials in the care of the Ravenclaw, waiting, hoping, for Mother Nature to be on their side. 

As soon as the first boom of thunder rocks the castle in late March everyone is out of their beds and heading toward the Room of Requirement, aware that they’ll need a safe, secure place to get this done. Kaylee follows carefully behind Alyssa out through the common room, hissing all the way to Royce that this is important and that he’ll want to see. 

On the other end of the castle, it’s largely the same, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors meeting on the staircase where their paths always tend to cross before walking up together. 

Shelby doesn’t have a partner, but the whole gang knows they can count on her to be on time; hell, she’s probably already there. 

They keep their footsteps quiet, knowing this may be their only chance for the next few months, knowing that this is important, maybe the most important thing they’ve ever done together. 

Alyssa strides faster, rounding the corner into the proper corridor and gasping quietly when she runs almost directly into Emma. 

“Woah.” She laughs breathlessly, grinning. Both of the girl’s hands are on her shoulders, holding her in place. “Hey,” she whispers.

“Hey,” Emma replies, pointing to where Shelby is doing the work of summoning the room. 

“I’m here too,” Kaylee grumbles. 

Nick pushes his friends through the newly summoned door. “How about we don’t get caught?”

***

“We do it on three,” Shelby declares. The four viable mages — Emma, Alyssa, Kevin, and herself — all nod, uncorking their potions. From the side, Greg and Nick each hold one of Kaylee’s hands, while Royce drapes around her neck.

Shelby is nervous. It was her idea to do this, her idea to all do it together. Her friends trust that she’s done everything right, that she’s been leading them down the right path. Sure, Alyssa’s done her fair share of the research with her, but Shelby has been the main prompter.

What if she messed something up? What if she led them wrong? What if—

She feels Kevin slip his hand into hers, interlocking their fingers and giving a reassuring squeeze. Somehow, it helps her relax.

She’s fine. She’s gone over everything a million times, even before she sent anyone to grab this ingredient or that book, spreading the more conspicuous parts out so it would be less obvious what they were doing. 

“One,” she counts, raising her potion to her lips.

“Two,” Alyssa continues, and Shelby can feel the tension crackle between everyone.

They don’t say three; instead, Shelby throws her head back, chugging the liquid as fast as possible to try and avoid any aftertaste — experience in testing less harmful potions in Professor Allen’s class proves that this is an effective strategy. 

When she’s sure she’s swallowed all of it, Shelby opens her eyes from where she screwed them shut and looks around at her friends. Emma’s face is stuck in her that was disgusting expression, Kevin sticks his tongue out, and Alyssa seems as unaffected as she hopefully looks. 

Suddenly, they all burp at the same time.

“Uh, gross?” Greg comments from the side, and Shelby is inclined to agree; something stops her before she can vocalize it, however.

“Woah,” Kevin breathes out, and Shelby infers that everyone is feeling the same tingling throughout their body, racing from their fingertips to the edges of their senses. 

“Is that it?” Emma asks.

“It should be,” Alyssa mutters.

“It should be,” Shelby confirms. “But how do—”

As soon as she wonders, something deep within her knows what to do to transform. Without really thinking — a first for her — Shelby closes her eyes and moves.

It’s painless, if a bit weird. She feels her whole body shifting, shrinking, and parts of her rearrange to fit her new form. Faintly, she senses a tail growing, but that swiftly becomes just another limb, like her four legs.

With a flick of her ears, she opens her eyes and looks around the room.

“Oh my god,” Kaylee breathes, “You’re a fox.”

A fox? Shelby looks down at her feet — paws — and then over her back at a bushy tail to realize that she is, in fact, a fox. Though, considering her corporeal patronus from last semester, she shouldn’t be surprised.

A cold nose at her shoulder startles her, and she jumps a solid foot in the air when she turns around to see a wolf face in her personal bubble.

“The white wolf is Kevin,” Greg narrates helpfully, and Shelby sniffs the air to confirm his claim. A strangely familiar scent floods her nose, and she relaxes as her brain catalogues said scent as Kevin.

Kevin’s tail wags when Shelby’s posture relaxes, and Shelby takes the opportunity to look through his legs and under his belly to see how her other friends are doing.

She wants to laugh at the golden retriever sitting, confused, where Emma once stood, sporting prominent markings around her eyes that remind Shelby of the blonde’s glasses. Said urge to laugh falls away, however, when she notes what the last animal is.

Alyssa — she infers by process of elimination — is a falcon. Based on her near-corporeal patronus from last semester — Shelby’s been trying to help her make it fully corporeal this semester in all their nonexistent free time — she should be something with four legs and a round head.

Instead, she’s perched on the arm of one of the armchairs in the room, talons dug into the fabric gently. Her feathers are a gorgeous ombré from red to orange to the chestnut of her hair, and — as Shelby watches her grow accustomed to her form — if she were human herself, she may have gasped at the expanse of her wings that she’s able to see fully as Alyssa stretches and flutters. The feathers are perfectly arrayed, gently parted for perfect flight. 

Curiously, she studies her friend longer, and it seems, honestly, as though Alyssa is slightly shocked, too. 

She opens her mouth to say something, before realizing that all her friends hear are yiffs. It’s honestly her favorite little fact — that fox sounds are called yiffs — and she can’t help but smile to herself as she shifts back into her human form without much effort. 

Being a fox is great, but she’d rather be able to talk right now. 

“How was it?” Nick asks, approaching Kevin with an outstretched hand like he’s a dog.

“Weird,” she admits. “But interesting. We can understand you in animal form, by the way.”

“Really?” they question, just as Kevin jumps up and knocks him to the ground. “Ow! Kev, get off of me!”

“I don’t think he wants to,” Kaylee laughs, and Royce lets out a hissing laughter as well.

Alyssa changes back, then, though Emma remains a dog. “I don’t understand.” She trails off, looking at her hands. “Shelby loves foxes; Emma’s pretty much a golden retriever personified anyways, and Kevin’s... Kevin. Why was I a bird?”

“Remember that it’s not always clear why we’re the animals we are,” Shelby reminds her of the warning they read over and over in their research. “You might figure it out in time.”

“Yours even matches your patronus!” Alyssa points out. “Emma, too.”

“Hey,” Shelby placates her friend. Obviously, this is really bothering her. “We don’t know Kevin’s yet.”

“But mine’s an otter,” the Slytherin argues. “Or at least that’s what we think it is, right?”

Shelby is the one who suggested that animal to her, but she shrugs at her question nonetheless. “Like I said, it’s not always clear.”

Kevin escapes the headlock that Nick put him in, padding towards Shelby and leaning against her side. Shelby remembers that that’s a hug in dog and wolf body language, and she smiles, patting his side.

“What’s up, babe?”

Kevin whines through his nose, leaning further into her.

“Fine,” she fake relents. “We can cuddle.”

As she says cuddle, Emma turns her face to Alyssa, and Shelby has to stifle a laugh. That girl’s crush is getting ridiculous.

“Cuddle time? Fuck yeah!” Greg exclaims, grabbing Emma by the scruff of her neck. “I’m extremely touch-starved. Let’s do this!”

Emma turns back into a human and smacks her cousin.

***

They meet on the edge of the Forbidden Forest right when the moon is beginning to rise. Emma smiles when she sees her friends waiting for her: Alyssa, Shelby, and Kevin standing in a loose semi circle. She goes to stand next to Alyssa, ignoring the impulse to reach over and take her hand when it hangs next to Emma’s own. Instead she nudges Alyssa with her elbow, making her previously pensive face break into a smile. 

Increasingly, they all seem to be sporting such expressions, lost in thought about the prophecy, their destinies, their futures. 

She’s glad to see Alyssa brighten slightly. 

“So, we’re all here,” Kevin says, looking a bit hesitant to proceed. It’s one thing to transform in a controlled environment, but transforming here, in the shadows of the forest feels entirely different.

“Oh, wait.” Alyssa rummages in her pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “Kaylee gave me this note and told me to read it before we did anything.”

“Of course she did,” Shelby says fondly, leaning over Alyssa’s shoulder trying to catch a view of the note.

Alyssa clears her throat. “ Good luck with your animal magic. If you get caught, I will not be the idiot paying bail for four animals. Also, if, for whatever reason, you wake me up, I am going to hex your shoes so that you can only turn left. -Kaylee. ”

Emma can’t help the chuckle that escapes her, impressed that Kaylee managed to lighten the mood without even being there. Everyone else quickly follows, their group dissolving into laughter. It was exactly what they needed; with the tentative joy still humming in her veins Emma focuses on changing, on the feeling she had felt when she first took the potion, and immediately she’s shrinking, her sense of smell sharpening.

As soon as she’s in her dog form, she can’t remember why she was worried. The feeling of being outside is amazing, so many new smells, and the wind blowing through her fur. Her friends all seem to be having the same experience. Next to her Alyssa flaps her wings, getting a hang of the flying motion before speeding into the air. Emma can’t help but follow.

She runs and runs for what feels like hours, until the moon is falling low in the sky. She plays with her friends, racing Shelby’s fox around the lake and wrestling with Kevin’s wolf. When they’ve all tired themselves out they collapse in the grass and Alyssa comes to a stop, landing lightly on Emma’s back.

It’s an amazing night, and when Emma finally changes back she leans against Alyssa’s shoulder, both of them exhausted. The moon reflects gently on the lake, and they watch as the giant squid splashes around. 

“This is nice,” she whispers, watching as Kevin and Shelby continue to tussle. 

Alyssa nods, staying silent as they both bask in the peace of the moment until the stars start to fall from the sky, and daybreak peeks over the horizon. 

And then, before she knows it, Emma finds herself leading Alyssa down to the Slytherin dorms, making sure she’s able to get through the door, even hugging her goodnight, before heading down to the Hufflepuff dorm where she falls onto her bed, asleep before her head even hits the pillow.

Chapter Text

Alyssa isn’t really paying attention to the thread of the conversation at breakfast, though everyone is sitting around and laughing, trading stories. 

Today is always the worst day of the year. 

April Eighth. 

She stares down at her breakfast — oatmeal and a chocolate muffin — but she can’t find her appetite. She wrote her mom earlier this week, telling her that she loved her and that she, Angie, and Barry were planning their usual birthday dinner for Dad, and she’s just received Veronica’s reply, one written warmly as she could be expected to at this time of year, signing off with the fact that she loved her and another copy of a picture of her and dad. The amount of new photos seems almost endless, though Alyssa supposes most things like this are intentional.

There’s presents at Gringotts for every year they pass around the sun; it stands to reason her parents also thought of this detail, also thought Alyssa may enjoy seeing pictures of her and her lost father. 

For a moment, it helped light the day, but now, she watches the photograph move — her father spins a six-year-old Alyssa around the backyard — and all she feels is an overwhelming sense of missing him. 

It makes her sick to her stomach. 

On her left, Kevin and Shelby are making eyes at each other while the latter pretends to read her book, and on the right, Kaylee is having a full conversation with Royce over her cinnamon roll. She feels overloaded, and she hates herself for it, but the thing that makes her snap is Emma tapping her on the shoulder. 

“You okay, ‘Lys?” she asks softly. 

God, Emma cares so much. Emma is so good, so kind. For weeks, something has felt different, better between them, better than anything Alyssa has ever known. But today she can’t deal with her feelings, doesn’t want to, doesn’t know how. There’s so much welling inside her, so much that she wishes to say, to share, to scream about. Her father is dead, and she’s fairly sure that she’s falling for Emma, falling in a way that she never planned to for anybody. 

Love is dangerous; she knows that. The thought makes her look back down at the photograph next to her plate. Her dad looks so happy. He promised he’d come home. And he didn’t, and she has seen what that did to her mom. 

And yet, she likes Emma. She likes her so much that it almost hurts. 

This realization could not come at a more inconvenient time. 

And she doesn’t mean for it to come out as angry as it does. But it’s too late. 

“I’m fine.” 

She winces at the way Emma shrinks back, but she hopes that this will at least be a signal to her friends to leave her alone for the rest of the day. She stands up, snatching the photo of her father before anybody else can catch a glimpse of it, before she storms off. She’s not sure where she’s headed, but if she hears one more sound of laughter, she’s fairly sure she must just scream for real. 

She’s glad people are happy, but today she can’t deal with it. She just can’t. 

***

Alyssa flops onto her bed face first, finally allowing her throat to grow salty. She already feels a pit in her stomach growing with each passing minute over her interaction with Emma, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. 

Instead, she buries her face in her pillow, clenching it tightly in her hands. She can’t get her father’s smile out of her head. It’s impossible not to miss him right now. Despite not remembering much of the man, she knows he’d have some good advice about OWLs, about doing well in Runes, which she’s honestly having a bit of a hard time in right now, and, most heavy on her mind, on liking girls. 

One girl in particular. 

She remembers his voice, sometimes, and she can faintly imagine him laughing at her, giving her advice on how to make a move or at least not act like a total fool, which she tends to do around Emma a whole lot. 

The only saving grace to the situation is that Emma makes a fool of herself, too. 

It’s silly to wish her father was here. Alyssa knows that. He was a member of the Order. He risked and lost his life fighting to make the world better; it’s selfish to think that he should have chosen her over the world. 

Still, part of her longs for him, longs for his hugs and for the stories that Angie and Barry so often tell from his perspective. She wants to know everything about him, everything that her mom refuses to talk about for fear that her heart may break further in two if she does. 

Her tears begin to soak into the pillow, and there’s a steady buzzing in her ears. It’s so loud that she doesn’t even hear the door open, but she starts up when she recognizes the voice that follows. 

“‘Lyssa?” 

She wipes at her eyes, coming face-to-face with Emma. 

Fuck. 

“Emma!” she says as cheerfully as she can, though the point is rather moot considering how tear-streaked and red her face is. 

“Are you okay?” the girl asks. “I know I asked you before, but you— you kind of yelled at me.” She’s trying to make light of the earlier situation at breakfast, and Alyssa appreciates it, though she knows it’s not an out. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry about that,” she apologizes, putting meaning behind the words. She swipes away another tear that falls. 

“It’s okay,” Emma says quickly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you weren’t yourself. You didn’t mean it.” 

Alyssa’s heart skips a little. Emma knows her, knows her enough to be aware of the fact that she doesn’t feel like herself today at all. 

“I’m still sorry,” she blurts out. 

“Well, I forgive you,” Emma tells her without missing a beat. She shifts from foot-to-foot, suddenly seeming slightly awkward in that very endearing way. Finally, she speaks again, offering, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Alyssa pauses for a moment, finding that for the first time, with Emma, she wouldn’t mind talking about her dad. She nods carefully, scooting over on the bed, a silent welcome for Emma to join her if she’d like. 

Emma sits down without any hesitation, and it’s then that  Alyssa notices a box in her hand. She stares at it, as if willing to know what’s in it, and she can’t help but giggle a little when the Hufflepuff notices. 

“Oh! I totally forgot,” she admits, holding the box out to her. “I brought you oreo cheesecake. Gran sent me half of one, and I thought you might enjoy it.” She smiles, attractive and lopsided and everything that always makes Alyssa melt before teasing, “Even if you decided to yell at me again, I was going to leave it for you.” 

The thoughtfulness of the gesture hits Alyssa right between the ribs. She’s a little breathless. “That’s really nice of you, Em.” 

Emma blushes. “It’s nothing,” she insists. “I just remembered it, so I thought it might make your day better, you know? I find that sugar and talking about stuff can really do that to ya. Of course, if you don’t like the cake, that would be super awkward, but Gran is a good baker! And I like what she makes, which would make it even weirder for both of us if you didn’t—” 

Alyssa smiles as Emma rambles, her heart beating steady and loud in her chest. A voice speaks in her head, the one she knows is her father’s, somehow, despite the fact that she was never old enough to have memorized it. 

Be brave, Alyssa. 

Faintly, she’s aware that Emma is still talking, but she can’t really process what’s being said, and before she knows it, she’s leaning across the space and her eyes flutter shut as she presses her lips to Emma’s effectively telling her to be quiet. 

For a moment, they’re both utterly still, and Alyssa wonders if she made a mistake, if she read this wrong. She goes to pull back, to apologize, to mutter something about it being the heat of the moment, but then, Emma holds the back of her neck gently, reciprocating as softly as she can. 

For weeks, months, even Alyssa has been trying to get to this moment, ever since the quidditch game, ever since her conversation with Greg. She revels in the feeling. 

Her stomach turns over, and she can’t help it as she smiles. She can’t remember the last time she really smiled on this day, but Emma kisses her and it feels like perfect rain and gentle fire, like soft Saturday mornings and being called for rank at the top of the class. She’s trembling a little; she knows that, but for once, it’s not the kind that seems to shake her insides. Instead, it settles them, puts them back into place in a way that she never thought possible. 

In the most oddly exhilarating and wondrous way, Alyssa feels whole. Emma makes every stress melt away, makes this day, one for so long that has shattered her into a million pieces, mended, at least for this moment. 

Her breath stutters at the realization that she’s never felt this safe. Not ever. She’s come close: being in her mother’s presence, watching the Falcons with Angie, planting rose bushes in the backyard with Barry. 

But never like this. Never so safe that she forgets the world and doesn’t worry about the world forgetting her. 

She presses forward just slightly for one more moment, enjoys the way Emma holds her just a little tighter, the way her lips feel sticky and everything inside her grows unbroken at the little hitch in the other girl’s breath, before she realizes that she too needs to breathe. 

Alyssa all but forces herself to pull back, blushing and looking down, trying to contain her smile. 

She just kissed Emma Nolan. And Emma kissed her back.

“Woah,” the girl says, flushed red. 

“Yeah,” Alyssa says back, finally meeting hazel eyes with her own. “How was that for you?” she asks shyly. 

“How was that for me?” Emma laughs. “‘Lys, I’ve only been trying to get you to like me back since Christmas. And probably before that, if I’m honest.”

“I was trying to get you to like me back!” Alyssa says back. “God, why are we like this?”

“Greg said it’s something about lesbians being lesbians,” Emma jokes, the corners of her lips turning up an impossible amount. “Though it seems we’ve, uh, figured it out?” She gestures between them hopefully. 

Alyssa nods, biting her lip around a smile. “It seems we have.” She brushes her nose against Emma’s softly, who laughs in response before reaching up to wipe away the last few tears that are collecting at the corner of gentle brown eyes. She smiles softly as Alyssa leans into the touch, quivering gently before a clear decision flits across her face. “It’s my dad’s birthday,” she breathes eventually, shifting slightly away from Emma and grabbing for the cheesecake that’s next to them on the bedspread. 

“Oh,” Emma says softly. 

“He’s been gone seven years,” Alyssa continues, brightening slightly when she sees how good the dessert looks. “I guess every year I hold out hope that he’ll come home, however stupid that sounds.”

“That’s not stupid at all,” the other girl tells her quickly.

“It’s not?” Alyssa asks carefully. She takes a bite of the cheesecake thoughtfully. 

Emma shakes her head. “It’s kind of… nice, actually,” she says. “It means you still have hope. Hope is hard to come by right now.” She shrugs. “I didn’t even know I still had it until you kissed me just now.” 

“So if I kissed you again?” Alyssa asks. 

“We should test the theory, just to be sure,” Emma jokes, clearly not expecting it when Alyssa presses another kiss to her lips. She tastes like chocolate. 

Emma grins at the quickness of it. 

“And?” the brunette asks. 

Emma holds up a finger. “One more?” 

Alyssa laughs and nods. “One more,” she agrees.

***

“I got this picture from my mom,” the Slytherin confides, grabbing the photograph of herself and her father from the bedside table. She and Emma are sharing the cheesecake now, and for hours, the blonde has just let her talk about her dad, what she misses, what she remembers. It feels good, having somebody to listen. 

“You’re so cute!” Emma laughs, pointing at baby Alyssa. She softens infinitely when Danny looks directly at the camera. “You have his eyes.”

Alyssa smiles, a little watery. “Everybody says that.” 

Emma nods. “Well it’s true.” She leans against the girl’s shoulder. “Thanks for telling me about him. He sounds awesome.”

“Thank you for listening.” Alyssa tilts her head to rest it against Emma’s. “I’ve never told anybody everything I told you,” she admits. “It’s nice.”

“I’m happy to listen.” Hazel eyes are earnest. “That’s what I came here for. To help. I didn’t brave the dungeon for nothing.”

Alyssa melts against her a little before a thought crosses her mind. She sits up slightly. “How did you get in here?”

“I hovered by the entrance until someone gave pity and let me follow them,” Emma admits sheepishly. She lights up when Alyssa laughs at that. 

***

“You want me to pick you up later?” Emma asks, heart running around her chest at the way Alyssa is holding her hand on the way to Professor Dickinson’s classroom. 

“I don’t know how long it will go,” Alyssa tells her. “Uncle and Aunt get pretty into the reminiscing bit. And, well—” she hesitates for a moment, but the Hufflepuff looks at her encouragingly, so she continues— “I like to hear the stories? You know, even if they’ve told them a thousand times.”

Emma’s brow furrows in obvious confusion. “So do you want me to pick you up or not?” 

Alyssa softens at that. “I would love for you to come pick me up.” 

“Great.” Emma grins, eyeing the way they’re walking up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room. “Well, I hope that it goes alright! And that you get at least some new stories?” 

Alyssa nods, pressing up on her toes to hug Emma. “Thank you. For today,” she whispers, planting a kiss on her cheek. 

“It’s no problem.” Emma waves her off. “I’m just glad that this day had some good in it for you.” 

“A lot of good,” the girl corrects. “And that’s because of you.” 

Emma flushes. “Well, it ended up being a pretty good day for me too,” she admits, gesturing between them. “Now, you go on,” she urges, releasing Alyssa’s hand. “I’ll come back around eight.” 

“Okay,” Alyssa says, a little shy, suddenly. “If you’re too busy, you don’t have to—”

“I want to. I don’t want you to have to be alone for a second. Days like this can be hard, even if we feel good at certain moments.” 

“Anybody ever told you how brilliant you are, Nolan?” Alyssa asks. 

“All the time,” Emma jokes. “But tell me again?” 

She earns a playful shove at that, and all she can do is laugh, waving as Alyssa finally takes a few steps back and moves to push open the door to the classroom.

“Eight o’clock.” Alyssa waves goodbye.

“Eight o’clock,” Emma repeats. 

***

It begins in mid-April. 

Shelby makes her way to her usual table in the library, which has practically been overrun by her friends as one of their hangout spots, and gets down to business right away. “Apologies for tardiness; I lost track of time.”

“I bet you did,” Kaylee replies in a tone that Shelby dislikes immensely. It’s her teasing tone, but lately said tone has taken on a new edge that she can’t quite describe, especially when it’s aimed at her, and especially when Kaylee teases her about — “Nice tie, by the way.”

“What?” Shelby looks down on instinct, not quite registering her reason for the compliment until— “ ¡Carajo! ” Shelby hastily pulls off the red and gold tie she has apparently worn all the way to the study session, cheeks burning, as Kaylee and Greg attempt to keep their laughter quiet. She stuffs Kevin’s tie into her bag, deciding that she can go tieless for an evening, before pulling out a textbook and glaring at her friends. 

“How was Kevin?” Greg asks once his giggles die down.

“He was fine,” Shelby sighs, “But he’s probably having a similar conversation down at the quidditch pitch with Nick.”

Greg snickers. “There’s no way they’ll pass up this chance.”

“Great, great,” Shelby says, “Blah, blah, I accidentally wore my boyfriend’s tie. Now can we please start this study session? I can’t remember anything from History of Magic.”

With a few final comments, her friends comply with her request, and Shelby foolishly hopes that this will be a one-time occurrence.

She should know better. 

Emma and Alyssa have been acting weird all year, but recently it’s gotten worse: furtive glances they think no one sees, lingering touches; you name it, they’ve done it.

The only thing they haven’t done is kiss in front of everyone, though Shelby has a sneaking suspicion that they’re doing that in private.

About a week after her tie switch, Alyssa is late to their meetup spot. Early on in the year, everyone with a prefect badge agreed to meet up and walk to meetings together, and today is no different.

As Kevin high-fives a first year Gryffindor and checks in on them, Shelby checks her wrist where a Muggle would wear a watch, though, of course, that’s not a common thing in the wizarding world. “Where is she? We’re gonna be late.”

“Relax,” Greg dismisses her worries. “We meet up super early, anyway.”

“I’m here!” Alyssa’s voice echoes down the hallway, accompanied by the footsteps of someone running in a skirt. “I’m here,” She repeats once she actually reaches her friends, breathing heavily. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Greg says. “Now we can head to— what are you wearing?”

“My… uniform?” Alyssa questions, glancing down at herself. Shelby notices what Greg did, and bites her cheek in an effort not to laugh. “Though it is a little chilly, so I grabbed a robe before heading over to you.”

Kevin turns to his friends, then, and immediately notices. “Hey, Alyssa— Why is your hood yellow?”

Alyssa’s eyes widen, and Shelby immediately knows where said Hufflepuff robe came from. “Well, I was… I was studying with Emma, and I guess I picked up one of her robes instead of my own,” She explains hastily, pulling the robe off and shoving it towards Greg, who conveniently doesn’t have a robe on. “Here. You look cold.”

“I’m—” Greg tries to protest, but Alyssa is barreling down the hall towards the Prefect meeting before he can finish his thought. “I’m not…”

“Just wear the robe, Greg,” Shelby pats him on the shoulder, taking Kevin’s hand and following their friend down the hall.

***

This trend continues for the better part of two weeks; Shelby’s been more careful about putting her tie and jacket back on, so it’s never her fault, but Alyssa or Emma will occasionally show up to one group hang or another wearing each other’s accessories and over-robes.

Shelby finds herself studying in the Great Hall with Greg and Nick, who both watch as Emma leaves them to return Alyssa’s tie to her, again . Across the table, Nick sighs. “Oh, to have a pretty girl to switch ties with,” he laments, and Greg snickers from next to them.

“You can wear my tie, if you want,” he offers, but quickly switches gears. “But I know that there’s one particular tie you want to wear.”

“What?” Nick startles, cheeks turning a delightful pink as Shelby gives up any semblance of studying to learn about their crush. “No, no one—”

“I mean,” Shelby teases, “Besides your fruitless crush on Kaylee for the better part of fourth year, there’s only one girl here who you’d care about.” With a quick glance up, she grins at her luck. “And she just so happens to be coming this way.”

“What?” Nick squeaks, eyes wide as he spins around, leaving Greg and Shelby to share looks behind his back. “Oh no.” They frantically smooth their hair down, straightening their robes and correcting his tie, all in about three seconds.

“Hey, Greg!” Cynthia Jones greets her fellow Puff Prefect with a wave and a friendly smile. “How’s that DADA homework treating you?”

“Awful,” he complains. “I’d prefer to read about the history of werewolf discrimination again.”

“But you enjoy that subject,” Shelby points out. 

Greg shrugs.

“Shelby, right?” Cynthia asks, recognizing her as a fellow Prefect, and Shelby nods. “Good to see you.”

“And this is Nick,” Greg introduces the Gryffindor. “You might have seen them hanging out with us before. He’s quidditch captain for the idiots.”

“We’re not idiots; we’re brave,” Nick snaps lightly, broken from their stupor by the insult to his house. “I thought we grew past the house stereotyping when I came out?”

“I thought you were still stubbornly dealing with an inconsistent slip’n’slide staircase because you refuse to let Professor Oliver and Kevin help?” Greg replies, and Cynthia perks up.

“The Gryffindor staircases go by gender instead of sex?” she asks, sitting down. “That would have helped me figure out my identity way sooner.”

“It’s more like they listen to what you think you are,” Nick explains, scratching the back of their neck. “Like, before I was out to myself I had no trouble, but as soon as I questioned my gender for the first time I started playing Russian Roulette every time I wanted to change.”

“Wow,” Cynthia says, “That sounds hard. Would you like to keep talking about this? Over some butterbeer at Hogsmeade this weekend, maybe?”

Nick is stunned for a moment but recovers quickly. “Yeah! Yes, I’d like that.”

“Great.” She smiles, standing up. “I’ll leave you all to your studies. Have a good day!” With a final wink to Nick, she’s gone. 

“What was that you were saying about wearing a girl’s tie?” Shelby teases, and Nick turns scarlet.

“Shut up.”

***

“Can we just keep this room like this?” Kaylee asks, collapsing onto one of the couches.

“You know as well as I do that we can’t really control this room,” Shelby answers lightly. “It responds to our needs of the moment.”

“Well I need it to stay like this forever,” Kaylee replies.

“Ooh, bean bags!” Kevin exclaims as he gets through the door, immediately shifting into his wolf form and circling up on one. Shelby makes herself comfortable, using her boyfriend as a pillow while the rest of her friends join them in the Room of Requirement.

Kevin’s tail thumps happily once all seven of them arrive and settle around the room with Greg taking the floor despite Kaylee’s protests.

Emma and Alyssa arrive last and together, piquing Shelby’s interest. She notes that Emma’s robe has a distinctly green hood, but doesn’t mention it outside of a pointed glance. 

As the blonde sits down, she shoots Shelby a thankful look and tries to slide the robe off inconspicuously, but Nick groans. “Just give your girlfriend her robe back already.”

No one talks, until everyone starts talking.

Kaylee and Shelby both yell Nick’s name.

Alyssa and Emma both ask, “You knew?”

Greg cries, “Holy shit!”

Kevin barks.

“You knew?” Emma repeats once they all stop talking.

“I thought we were keeping it a secret,” Alyssa adds.

“I thought we established that you’re a terrible liar,” Shelby replies, and Alyssa shuts her mouth. 

“Yeah, no. We all knew.” Kaylee waves a hand in the air. “The real question is, how long have you been together?”

Emma and Alyssa share a look, before Emma answers her question. “About a month?”

Shelby pumps a fist in the air. “Yes! Pay up, motherfuckers. Kev, I’ll get your payment later.”

“Wait,” Alyssa says, “Not only did you all know we were dating, but you were betting on how long?”

“Blame Greg,” Shelby throws her friend under the bus, tucking her new pocket money away.

Chapter Text

When Alyssa awakens on her fifteenth birthday, she can’t help her excitement. It’s the first birthday where she has more than two real friends, not to mention the fact that she has a girlfriend. The thought makes her a little giddy, and warmth rushes through her veins when she sees a stack of presents at the foot of the bed and a very proud of herself Kaylee Klein arranging them as quietly as she can, exchanging an occasional hiss of disagreement with Royce, who’s winding around on the floor clearly trying to give instructions on how he thinks the presents should best be organized. 

“You’re such an ass,” Kaylee snarks to her pet snake, and it makes Alyssa laugh loud enough that her best friend is suddenly made aware that she’s awake. “‘Lys!” she cries. “Happy birthday!”

Alyssa grins, sitting up. “Thanks, Kay.” She looks curiously over at what she thought was a small stack that’s actually much bigger than anticipated. “Who are all of those from?” she asks in surprise. 

Kaylee cocks her head to the side slightly, trying to remember. “Well, these two your mom sent me. One’s from your dad and one’s from her, as usual.” Alyssa tries to make out what they are, but she isn’t wearing her glasses. Still, she’s excited. Her dad’s gifts get a bit more extravagant every year, and her mom’s are always thoughtful. Kaylee picks up two that are poorly wrapped next. “These are, no surprise, from Kevin and Nick. I told them I could do the wrapping, but they got all offended,” she jokes, placing them aside. “And then Greg, Shelby, and I are at the very bottom, along with one from Professor Dickinson and one from Professor Glickman. I tried to get Emma to give me hers, but she pulled the whole I want to give it to her in person thing, so I gave up pretty quick. You’re right about her eyes,” Kaylee laughs. 

“They’re very convincing,” Alyssa agrees, voice soft at the thought of Emma, grabbing her glasses. 

“God, you’re so gay,” Kaylee teases. 

“Says you!” Alyssa fights back as usual, happy and carefree. On this day, she always manages to find the good, feels a little bit like her dad is here because of the present he so carefully picked out for her. At the thought, she looks at the foot of her bed excitedly trying to decide which one to open when she notices one last bit of wrapping paper Kaylee hadn’t explained yet. “What’s that one?” she asks. 

Kaylee frowns a little in confusion. “I don’t know. I didn’t get it from anybody when I collected the presents last night.” She picks it up and hands it carefully to her friend. “Open it and see?” 

Alyssa nods carefully, undoing the tape, only to find… a blank bit of parchment. She turns it over in her hands, unsure what to think, when a note falls out of the sheet as she unfolds it curiously. 

Tap me and say, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’ To close me, say ‘mischief managed.’

She reads the note over. There’s no signature, and she doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but she can’t imagine that it’s just from a nobody. She grabs her wand, and she taps the parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” 

“Never thought I would hear you say those words,” Kaylee teases, unaware of what Alyssa has just read, but her eyes go wide when she sees ink begin to unfurl on the parchment. “Woah. What the fuck?”

Alyssa shrugs at the wildly, verbalizing script as it appears on the paper. “Messrs. Vision, Plume, Padfoot, Whisper, and Stripes are proud to present The Marauders’ Map.” The ink is animated, and when she opens it, she almost drops it. 

“What?” Kaylee asks. “What is it?” 

Alyssa turns it around, showing the little footsteps with familiar names attached to them. “This is the school. And the people we know. Holy shit.” She watches, eyes scanning until… “Emma’s walking in our direction.”

“Of course you look for her first, you simp,” Kaylee groans, but she rounds to Alyssa’s side of the bed to see what she’s talking about. Sure enough, little Emma footsteps are moving through the Slytherin dormitory. “Is it accurate?” 

Alyssa shrugs. “I guess we’ll see,” she points out. She looks to the door. “She should enter in three, two—” 

Emma swings the door open. “Surprise—” she starts, before noticing that it seemed like the two Slytherins were watching the door already. “Wait. How’d you know I was coming up?”

Kaylee and Alyssa share a grin before the latter gestures the Hufflepuff over. “Come here, babe.” She makes grabby hands. “Let me kiss you hello, and then I’m going to show you something.”

Emma scampers over at the mention of a kiss, and Kaylee groans in fake disgust, covering her eyes dramatically when Alyssa closes her hand around her girlfriend’s yellow and black tie to force her closer before she presses their lips together. 

“Happy birthday,” Emma murmurs, and for the first time, Alyssa notices a present under her arms. It’s a big box. 

“Emma—” she starts in protest.

The blonde hushes her with another kiss. “I wanted to.” 

“I am right here,” Kaylee protests, and the couple laughs. 

“Right. Sorry,” Emma says, though she doesn’t sound all that apologetic. Still, she pulls herself free from Alyssa, not even bothering to straighten out her tie. “What was this thing you were going to show me?”

***

As was the plan anyway, everybody meets up in the Room of Requirement for Alyssa’s birthday. 

Kevin had bought a cake in town yesterday, and though gifts had been done earlier, it was still an extremely festive affair. 

Afterall, it’s not as if they all have much to celebrate on the day to day— fate of the world in their hands and all— and it’s nice to have a distraction. 

Still, it’s clear that there’s something on three of the girls’ minds as they sit together around the fire on the plush carpet and exchange stories, laughing and enjoying the feeling of togetherness. 

Of course, Greg is finally the one to point it out, overwhelmed by the wide range of emotions he’s experiencing sitting between Alyssa and Kaylee. 

“Can somebody fill the rest of us in?” he asks good naturedly, gaze moving between his two friends. 

The rest of the friends look on curiously, and there’s a clear breath taken by Alyssa before she starts to speak. 

“I got a gift today.” 

“Well the hope was that you get more than one gift,” Shelby chimes in, teasing. 

Alyssa laughs. “I did! And thank you, all of you, really. I’ve never gotten so many presents in my life. Or ones I liked so much.”  Everybody grins, clearly pleased with themselves. “But there was also something in the pile. Something I assume none of you gave.” 

She reaches into her jacket, where she’s been keeping the map, holding it up. 

“Uh?” Greg starts. “That’s just a piece of old parchment?” 

Kaylee snorts. “That’s what we thought.” She points to Alyssa. “Show them!”

Her friend nods, leaning over Emma to grab her wand from her overrobe that was discarded earlier in favor of eating without spilling on it. 

“There was a note on it,” Alyssa fills in. “You say I solemnly swear I am up to no good, and then you tap the map.” She does what she described, placing the map on the table between all of them as the ink starts to spread across the page like it did this morning. “And this happened the first time. And I tried it earlier and it happened again. And now we’re here.” She points to the top. “Messrs. Vision, Plume, Padfoot, Whisper, and Stripes proudly present…” 

One by one, each member of the group leans closer, continuing to read until—

“Holy fuck,” Nick breathes. “Is that the school?”

***

“We should have code names,” Nick announces, entering the Room of Requirement only seconds after they appeared in the corridor section of the Marauders’ Map that always lies open now whenever they’re together.

Shelby barely looks up from her book, but tunes into them.

“Why?” Ever so predictable, Kaylee asks from where she’s playing with Royce. 

“We’re those kids of the prophecy, right?” Nick asks without pausing for an answer. “That means we’re gonna have to go up against someone really bad and their followers. We won’t want them to know our real names, right?”

“He has a point,” Alyssa says. “We barely know who we’re up against. We’ve barely strung together comprehensible thoughts for a few lines in the prophecy. The less they know about us, the better. It’s working pretty well for whoever’s made this thing.” She gestures to the map. “We still don’t know who they are!” 

Shelby sits up, pulling her head from Kevin’s lap, closing her book. “Okay, fine. Let’s do this. The sooner we choose, the more we get used to them.”

“Dibs on Goldie!” Emma pipes up immediately, and Alyssa laughs. “What? I’m literally a golden retriever, according to my animagus and my patronus.”

Kaylee nods. “Also, your hair.”

“Also, my hair!” Emma repeats, looking at Shelby. It’s clear that she’s been thinking about this.

“Okay, Goldie it is,” She confirms, wondering when exactly she became the leader of this conversation. “Anyone else have any ideas?”

Kaylee raises her hand like she’s in the classroom. “I have one,” she starts, then proceeds to make a long string of hisses that Shelby immediately recognizes as Parseltongue. 

She waits until Kaylee is done before responding. “No.” 

Everyone else quickly agrees, Emma holding Nugget defensively, and Kaylee looks at her friends, offended. 

“What? It’s perfect!”

“No one doubts that, ‘Lee,” Shelby reassures. “But no one else can say it.”

Royce, from around Kaylee’s arm, hisses. 

“Royce likes it!” Kaylee translates, expression playfully smug.

“No one asked you, Royce,” Nick says, everyone used to directly talking to the snake by now.

Royce hisses, again, rearing back, and Kaylee gasps.

“Language!”

Nick, inferring, raises their voice in return. “Fuck you too!”

“Dude,” Greg laughs, raising a hand as if to say chill. “You’re arguing with a snake.”

Nick pauses, seemingly registering that he is, in fact, arguing with a snake. “Oh. Sorry, Royce.”

The snake hisses, accepting their apology.

“Fine,” Kaylee speaks up. “If no one liked that one, how about… Scales?”

“Short and snappy,” Alyssa says. “Like you. I like it.”

Everyone else agrees over Kaylee’s threats towards Alyssa because I’m not even that short , and Shelby nods. “So we’ve got Goldie and Scales… I want to be Scarlet.”

“Because you’re a fox?” Kevin asks, and Shelby nods.

“Because I’m a fox.”

“Welcome, Scarlet,” Greg greets.

Nick raises his head. “What if I was Binary? You know, as a joke, because I’m non -binary?”

“Fuck yeah,” Emma nods, “And it can reference your punches! One-two your enemies!” She mimes boxing some invisible foe, and her girlfriend snorts.

“I doubt that any of us will ever have to punch a bad guy when we have magic,” Alyssa explains. “I like Binary, though.”

“We all do,” Kevin agrees, and Nick beams.

“I’ve got an idea,” Alyssa speaks next. “What if I was Scout?”

Shelby narrows her eyes. “Explain your reasoning.”

Alyssa shrugs. “I just like how it sounds. I’ve got the eyes to look ahead, being able to fly, now, and all. Plus, I don’t just want to be something like Wings or Feather.”

Shelby tilts her head. “I don’t have a problem with it. Anyone?” her friends shake their heads, and she turns to Kevin. “Now, your turn.”

Kevin’s thinking face appears, and Shelby suppresses the urge to kiss him. She sees Greg make a face from across the room; he probably caught her thoughts. Finally, Kevin comes up with something. “What if I was Fuzzy?”

“No,” Alyssa immediately vetoes. “I’m not calling out ‘Fuzzy’ in the middle of the woods when we can’t find you.”

Kevin argues his choice further, with everyone saying no in some capacity, but Shelby zones them out. Her wheels are turning, thinking about her boyfriend; tall, strong, lovable, a wolf…

“What about Lupus?” Shelby, over the years, has perfected the art of leaving conversations, only to re-enter them at the perfect tone and volume to immediately shut everybody up. 

“I don’t have lupus,” Kevin replies immediately, and Shelby shakes her head.

“No, I meant— You know that lupus is a disease?”

Kevin shrugs, and Shelby falls in love with him again.

Greg makes another face. Kaylee, surprisingly, makes one as well.

She shakes her head. “Anyways, I meant Lupus as in the scientific name of the wolf, Canis lupus,” She explains, but the purebloods in the room— Greg, Kaylee, and Alyssa, though she’s really only a halfblood thanks to her mother being muggleborn— stare at her with blank faces. “Aaaand I forgot that science doesn’t exist in this world.”

“I like it,” Kevin says. “I’m Lupus!”

Shelby has a sneaking suspicion that Kevin didn’t understand her reasoning either, but he loves her too much to care. She could have suggested Donut and he would have agreed.

“Okay, roll call,” Alyssa calls. As she speaks, she points at the person she’s code-naming. “We have Scales, Binary, Scout, Goldie, Scarlet, Lupus, and…” She ends by pointing at Greg. “Greg.”

“How about Peeper?” Greg suggests for himself.

“Peeping Tom?” Shelby replies, and Greg points accusingly at her.

“It’s not my fault that you keep being really loud about how you feel about Kevin. I can’t filter big thoughts or feelings out yet, so stop liking your boyfriend so loud!”

Nick collapses in laughter. “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounded?”

“Now that I think about it, yeah,” Greg replies in the same indignant tone. “So, no Peeper. That was my only idea.”

Everyone else offers ideas, but Shelby falls back into her musings, this time for Greg. Again, her mind drifts to science, and a name comes to her.

“Prism.”

“Prison?” Greg repeats, but Shelby shakes her head. 

“No, Prism, with an M. It’s another science term, so stick with me?” She makes sure they’re all paying attention. “Okay. So, Greg’s Legilimency is kinda like cutting through the bullshit and facades, revealing true intentions and the ‘true colors’ of a person, right?”

“That’s one interpretation, sure,” Greg confirms, encouraging her.

“Well, a prism’s job is to capture a beam of light and separate it into the colors that make it up. If you shine a red light through, you get red; if you shine a white light, every color shows up separately, in a rainbow.”

“That makes sense,” Emma nods along, and Shelby remembers that Emma also went to muggle schools before Hogwarts.

“You could have led with the fact that it’s gay,” Greg says lightly. “I like Prism.”

“That’s our Scarlet,” Alyssa says, and Shelby smiles at the use of her code name. “She always knows the right stuff.”

“Thank you, Scout,” Shelby replies with a smile, before a thought strikes her. “Ooh, wait: Scales, Scarlet, and Scout? Alliteration on point. Do you still think of us as two friend groups, Greene?”

“Shut up,” Alyssa replies, “That was just coincidence.”

“Was it?” Nick teases, until they are suddenly blinded by their shirt pulled over their head with a flick of Alyssa’s wand. “Hey! That view’s for Cynthia only.”

“Trust me,” Kaylee says with a scrunched up nose, “No one else wants to see it.”

“Stop making me feel single,” Greg mock-complains.

Immediately, Shelby and Alyssa turn to their partners and kiss them.

***

“It’s been a hell of a year,” Nick laughs, relaxing against the train compartment’s comfortable seating. 

“You can say that again,” Shelby snorts, leaning against Kevin and reading a book with her other hand. 

The rest of the year had passed with incident. Granted, they spent most of it trying to analyze a prophecy, which, in itself, is a very big incident, but they try not to think too hard about such things. 

Instead, they tried to savor their teenagehood while analyzing their fate in the world, laughing between drawing question marks to certain parts in the prophecy, frantically studying over several cups of coffee while contemplating if the fate of those they love is in their very hands. 

It’s a hard line to walk. 

Still, this year has brought them all closer than ever: Kevin and Shelby are still going strong, Emma and Alyssa finally got their shit together, and Kaylee and Greg have become an unlikely pair of friends. If Kaylee even tries to deny it, Shelby will point to the moment that’s taking place before her where, again, her best friend is hauling the boy up by the collar of his shirt into the seat next to her. 

“I put Royce away. Don’t worry,” the girl jokes. “So stop being a floor gremlin again, and sit next to us!” 

Everyone can tell how hard Greg is trying not to smile. 

It’s a sweet moment after a year of struggle that hardly any of them have the strength or bandwidth to acknowledge. 

They look around at each other, and it’s barely there, but there’s new sorts of sensations, scents filling up the air between them: 

Safety. Hope. Family. 

***

He really wishes he hadn’t lost his mask. He had it for years; long enough to forget that the new masks itch like hell. 

Still, he can’t let his discomfort show as they stand at attention, waiting.

For Him.

Chapter Text

Alyssa has never known King’s Cross Station to be this cold in September.

She’s also never stayed on Platform Nine and Three Quarters this long, but she promised Emma and Greg that she’d walk them onto the train.

At least Shelby’s waiting with her and her mom for Kevin, though Kaylee decided to grab a compartment for everyone in advance.

“What use is a tall boyfriend if I can’t spot him in a crowd?” Shelby asks, wrapping said boyfriend’s sweater tighter around herself as another gust of wind filters through the platform. “At this rate we’re gonna miss the train.”

“We won’t miss the train,” Alyssa reassures her friend, as if the same thought isn’t currently bouncing around her own head. “Emma never has before, even if she doesn’t show up at the same time as us.

“I can’t believe I still haven’t met this friend of yours,” her mom says, clearly disappointed. “I’ve met Kaylee, Shelby and Kevin multiple times, and you’ve even shown me Nick and Greg before they had to leave the station last year.”

Alyssa refrains from telling her mother that she deliberately planned to keep her girlfriend away from her last year. The last thing she wants is to delay the healing of her mother’s wounds with an announcement that she’s found somebody; it feels unfair. She also refrains from acknowledging the look Shelby gives her when she hears her mom refer to Emma as her friend. “Emma’s busy, Mom.”

Veronica purses her lips and hums. “Will she be busy over break?”

Alyssa frowns. “She’ll probably be spending Christmas with her gran and Greg, why?”

“Invite them all,” her mother states. “We’ll spend Christmas with the Nolans. We’ve been talking about it for years now, and it would be nice to have some new faces around. I know how hard the holidays are for you and I, and it might be nice for you to have a friend!”

“Oh—”

Before Alyssa can make up another excuse, Shelby grabs her arm and starts pulling. “I see Kevin, and I think the rest are with him! Bye, Mrs. Greene!”

“Shelby, wait — bye Mom, I love you! — Shelby, slow down!” Alyssa calls out a final farewell to her flabbergasted mother as she’s tugged through the crowd, shocked to actually see Kevin appear. She thought Shelby just made an excuse.

All thoughts of abandoning her mother on the platform melt away with barely any guilt once she notices her girlfriend next to Shelby and Kevin, who are greeting each other with a kiss while Greg and Nick fake gag behind them.

“Hi,” Emma greets awkwardly, sheepish grin spreading across her face. Alyssa can almost imagine her Goldie tail belying her excitement, which brings a smile to her face. 

“Hi,” she returns, stepping forward and pecking her lips. “Kaylee’s been on the train this whole time. We’re keeping her waiting.”

“She has Royce, doesn’t she?” Emma mutters, leaning in. “She can wait a little longer.” 

Alyssa reddens, biting back a smile, carefully reaching up on her toes until she can brush her nose against her girlfriend’s. “She can definitely wait,” she agrees before pressing her lips to Emma’s soft and sweet, cupping her jaw, her heart flipping over itself when she feels Emma grin.  

Finally, Greg coughs. “Can we please get on the train before it leaves?” Only stragglers are getting on the train now. 

Emma rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to say something, but Nick speaks before she can. 

“Agreed,” they chime in. “If the Lovebirds-slash-dogs are okay with it, I would love to not have to search for an empty compartment this year, huh?”

“We didn’t last year,” Emma points out, stepping away from Alyssa slightly, taking her hand. “But yes, fine. Let’s find Kaylee. And then I can kiss my girlfriend all I want once we get to school.” 

“Eugh,” Nick groans. “I can’t see my girlfriend until we’re at school and y’all’re making me miss her.”

Alyssa laughs, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Okay, okay. Let’s get on board.”

***

The train ride is oddly cold, despite the fact that the whole gang is packed into a single compartment and chattering away. 

It’s clear they’re all attempting to fill the silence with stories, that the chill is apparent to all of them as they spin tales of their summers, of time with their parents and guardians and happy memories. They ignore the overcast sky, which is a strange occurrence at best, considering that it’s barely September. 

Even when the trolley comes by with candy and treats, there isn’t the usual rush. Kevin actually declines getting something to eat, feeling queasy because of the suffocating atmosphere. 

Kaylee breaks the silence, staring out the window at something. “What the hell is that?” She points frantically. As she speaks, whatever it is she’s staring at grows closer, and the condensation on the other side of the glass starts to freeze. 

A shrouded figure approaches, and immediately, Alyssa freezes, breath caught. Her hand grasps for Emma’s wrist. 

“What?” Kaylee asks, head tilting to the side. 

“A dementor,” Shelby whispers, pressing her nose to the window to get a closer look. “What’s it doing this far south?” 

Emma and Alyssa are quiet. They both remember fourth year, Barry’s panic to get them inside. They remember Emma falling, remember the little voices they both heard. It’s odd, really, to think about that time that feels so long ago, a time where they both somewhat longed to hear their parents, whatever hollowness may follow. 

Now, it’s hard for them to even look, and, of course, Greg is the one to notice. He watches as his cousin pales, and he meets her eyes before giving a slight nod. 

“I’m going to tell someone up front. This can’t be good,” he declares, interrupting the quiet. “Emma, ‘Lys, do you wanna come with?” 

Shelby opens her mouth to say that it really should only require one person, but he gives her a look, and she changes her mind. “Em, ‘Lys, while you’re there, can you get me a sandwich?” 

Both girls nod, finding enough of themselves to stand and follow Greg out. They attempt smiles at the rest of their friends, but there’s no real use. Their fear is clear. 

One thing has suddenly become clear: this will sure as hell be a year like no other.

Chapter Text

Alyssa loves her friends. Truly, she does. She would trust any of them with her life in any given situation. That being said, they’re also idiots.

The day starts out relatively normal: Alyssa wakes up as a falcon — which, honestly, isn’t something that gets any less weird no matter how many times it happens, but it happens a lot — she fights with Kaylee over who gets to use the bathroom first— Kaylee’s morning routine takes forever— and she kisses Emma good morning at breakfast, which never fails to make the butterflies in her stomach do flips. She even makes it to Runes class on time for once and actually understands most of what the teacher says.

Long story short, it’s a good, normal day. By the time she gets to Defense Against the Dark Arts, she’s practically skipping, already looking forward to the date she’s taking Emma on in the afternoon.

All of that comes crashing down when she looks out the window.

Alyssa gasps loudly enough that Angie pauses mid-sentence to look at her. “Ms. Greene? Did you have something to add?”

“Um—” Alyssa glances out the window where a familiar patterned dog is being chased across the grass by a gaggle of first years— “Nope! I had, uh, dust in my throat.”

Kaylee gives her a look that translates to what the fuck are you doing, and Alyssa can only shrug helplessly. Angie resumes teaching, something about protection spells that Alyssa is definitely going to have to study this weekend, since everything is going in one ear and out the other.

Alyssa looks back out the window as subtly as she can, assessing the scene before her. At some point while she was looking away, Kevin joined the crowd, and he’s now running behind the group of first years who have split into two and are trying to corner a golden retriever that’s very familiar to her — seeing as it’s really her girlfriend — against the building. 

Her fingers itch for her wand, wanting to help out her friends; unfortunately, there is no subtle way to Stupefy five first years from three stories up, so she is stuck as an observer. Kevin and Emma will figure something out… right?

They do not figure something out. Alyssa forces herself to pay attention to what Angie is saying, and more specifically, to stop looking out the window. She lasts exactly seven minutes before someone knocks frantically at the door. Angie groans at being interrupted again, but goes to answer the door.

“Professor Dickinson?” The girl at the door looks far too old to not know who Angie is and is wearing a shiny prefect badge on her shoulder. Probably a fifth year who still hasn’t gotten used to being a prefect and having to deal with things that aren’t in the guide book.

“Yes?”

“There's a—” the girl pauses, looking at a loss for words— “Problem, outside.”

Angie sighs and walks back across the room to the window. “Why did you come to— Oh.” When she turns back to the class she is wearing an expression of utter doneness. “There seems to be a dog. How odd.” She looks directly at Alyssa as she says the words, and Alyssa is reminded of the fact that Angie most definitely knows more than she has let on. “As you can see, I’m teaching a class right now. Alyssa should be of assistance, though.”

Next to her Kaylee, out of sight from the window, looks even more confused.

“Goldie,” Alyssa whispers, hopping to her feet. Kaylee seems to understand, and her confused expression shifts to one of understanding and exasperation. “I’d be happy to help!”

“Uh, I was supposed to get a teacher—”

“Alyssa will help you,” Angie says, practically shoving her niece out the door. “I have a class to teach, and she’s a prefect.”

The walk down to the grounds is incredibly awkward; the prefect still seems a bit baffled by Angie’s behavior, but she shows Alyssa downstairs and out the door before heading back into the building.

While she traversed the hall the first years seem to have conjured a leash, which is now tied around Emma’s neck, and Kevin has entered a debate with a girl half his size.

“You can’t put that dog on a leash,” Kevin says, crossing his arms as if to create an imposing figure.

“Why not?” The first year holding the leash is clearly unimpressed by Kevin. She almost reminds Alyssa of Professor Allen.

Kevin flounders for a second. “Because— uh—” He looks around a bit desperately and Emma covers her face with her paw— “Because it’s illegal.”

Alyssa bursts into laughter, and Kevin glares at her.

“It’s illegal?” The first year is not buying it.

Alyssa decides that this is probably a good time to stop the trainwreck taking place before her. She walks idly to stand in between Kevin and the first year. “What he means to say is that this dog is a member of the centaur group that lives in the Forbidden Forest. They’ll be expecting her to return home soon — and if she doesn’t, they might attack us.” She isn’t sure exactly where that story came from, but it’s just weird enough that the first years seem to buy it.

“Oh,” the girl unclips the leash and apologetically pats Emma’s head. “That explains why it was playing with that wolf. They must be Forbidden Forest friends.”

Kevin’s face pales, and Alyssa sighs loudly.

Her friends are idiots.

***

Students chatter amongst themselves, Alyssa and Shelby included, as they wait for class to begin; Professor Allen hasn’t yet made her entrance. 

“If the dementors continue to be on the grounds,” Shelby starts in a low voice, “then that means there’s more darkness on the horizon. I hate to get morbid, but it's not as if the answer to the prophecy is staring us in the face.” She gestures around to their classmates who are bickering. “And it’s not as if we’re standing together.” 

Alyssa nods carefully. “I noticed the Forest isn’t faring much better,” she admits. “It felt a lot scarier walking by it last week before quidditch, but Emma told me that when she had Care of Magical Creatures, a lot of the normal wildlife had disappeared, as if they’d gone into hiding.” Her expression is grim. “She said it was like the place was empty, vacated.” 

Shelby shivers at the thought. The Forbidden Forest — despite its name — has always been a lively place, filled with constantly chirping creatures and whispers. “Do you think that the other side is gaining followers from the outcasted members that live there?” she murmurs. “Giants? The spiders? In History of Magic, they were talking about how this happens, how it’s not just the wizards who take sides.”

Alyssa opens her mouth to reply, the information hitting her between the ribs. If it isn’t just wizards they’re up against, then standing together makes even more sense—

“Open your books to page three-hundred and ninety-four,” Professor Allen instructs curtly, waving her wand until cauldrons fall at the place of each student before she begins to write on the board. “Today, we will be learning about—”

Just as she’s about to head the notes, a piece of parchment flies onto her desk in the shape of a little crane. She pauses completely without even looking, seemingly sensing it and holding out her hand for it to float towards her so she can unfold it. 

Silently, she scans the message, pulling her glasses down from the top of her head, making little mmhm noises to herself, though it’s impossible to tell if she’s really reading something that requires such things or if it’s simply for show. Finally, she looks up, searching the room until her eyes land on the student she’s looking for. 

“Greene?” 

Alyssa perks up in her seat, unsure whether she should feel a chill or a warmth at the designation. 

“Yes, Professor?” she replies politely, curiosity evident on her face. 

Dee Dee’s lips twitch, the greatest show of fondness she’s ever allowed through her careful persona before she informs her of the contents of the note. 

“The Headmaster wishes to see you,” she informs gently. The woman smiles a little wider, though still tight lipped, at the stricken look on Alyssa’s face, before reassuring her. “Not to worry.” She winks good naturedly, and it helps the girl’s stomach settle a little. “I promise you’re in no trouble at all.” 

***

“Uh… Swallow the Moon,” Alyssa reads from a piece of parchment that was once a crane that Professor Allen gave her.

The eagle statue spins upwards, revealing a spiral staircase that Alyssa has never seen before, but recognizes from the Map. She climbs the stairs, entering what must be Headmaster Hawkins’ office, but the man is nowhere in sight.

Sure, Alyssa’s early to… whatever it is he invited her to, but she at least expected him to already be in his office. 

Taking a moment, Alyssa examines the Headmaster’s office. There’s portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses behind his desk, along with… musical theatre paraphernalia? She recognizes the name of a few theatres she’s heard of. The Longacre and the August Wilson especially set off bells in her head. Scanning his shelves, she finds more stuff like that mixed in with various magical objects, but she blinks at one thing in particular.

The Sorting Hat. The hat that decided her fate as a scholar at Hogwarts so many years ago. It looks just as worn as it did when she was a first year, though; if possible, it looks even more certain of itself despite its lack of animation. 

Silently, it calls to her, whispering of remembered urgings and answers about her destiny that have been just out of reach ever since they found the prophecy. It reminds her of the girl she once was, searching for her place, for her purpose. 

Her fingers itch toward it and, despite every instinct she’s ever had, Alyssa pulls the Sorting Hat onto her head.

***

September 1, 2011.

“Alyssa Greene,” Professor Dickinson reads out from the scroll. She smiles, trying to remain discreet while also fond, hoping to soothe some of the girl’s nerves. 

Alyssa takes a step forward, wobbling on her legs a little, before she takes up position on the stool, her heart stuttering when the hat falls over her eyes and she can’t see. Her stomach drops out a little when there’s suddenly a voice directly in her ear. 

“Ah, a Greene,” the voice says; it’s deep and wise, ages older than her, and Alyssa can tell there’s boundless knowledge at its… hat tip? Fingertips? She’s not sure what the proper terminology is. “You’d be right about that,” the hat says, clearly reading her mind. She jumps a little at the suddenness of its intone in her head once more. “I know most everything there is to know.”

Before she can help it, Alyssa thinks how wondrous it would be to have the world’s secrets in her grasp. 

“A thirst for knowledge, eh?” the hat asks. 

Alyssa thinks yes, very much so; yes. She’d like to know everything. 

“And an ambition, too, hm?” 

Alyssa pulls the thought back quickly, apologizing silently; still, she also thinks of her father, of her mother, of the way they were both in the house known for its ambition, for its silver glint and thirst to be the best. 

“Don’t apologize, deary.” Darkness still holds over her as the hat thinks. She doesn’t remember others’ sorting taking this long. “You’re right,” the hat replies. “You’re a tough one, Greeneling. So much capacity, so much curiosity. And still… a fear, yes?” it asks, though not looking for an answer. “What shall you become, Greene? What could you become is, perhaps, the better question,” it muses. “What is it that you want to be?”

Like my father, Alyssa replies silently before she can stop herself. 

“Your father…” the hat trails off. “Daniel Greene. He was a fine boy, yes. Slytherin’s best, of course, but Hogwarts’ best, as well.” 

Eagerly, Alyssa awaits more, but it never comes. “I’d like to be just like him,” she whispers, hoping that’ll get the hat going again. Then, she admits something she’s never to anyone before. “I think that I’d like to be the best, too.” 

She hates how small she feels in this moment, but there’s a suffocation about the confession. She’s never wanted to be anything but liked, but normal and good. And yet, lately, she’s felt something different inside of her, something she thinks she may be able to quell if done right, if she’s only given the opportunity to ride the middle, however unnatural it feels. 

“We are not born to live in the middle, Ms. Greene,” the hat tells her. “Certainly you are not made for such things.” 

“How do you know?” she asks. 

“I know these things,” the hat assures. “What did you say? That I have boundless knowledge at my hat tip? Well, you would be right about that. And I know your destiny, parts of it, at the very least.” The hat pauses. “Do you trust me?” 

Alyssa hesitates. She’s not very good at trusting; she’s not very good at opening up at all. The only reason the hat knows a thing about her is because it can read her thoughts. Still, weirdly, she does want to believe what it has to say. 

“You’re wise not to trust instantly,” the hat murmurs, almost laughing. “Again, this compels me towards Ravenclaw,” it admits. “So much potential! But potential is nothing when mixed with that pesky thing called fear. So, no. I will not give you Ravenclaw.” It sounds sure. “And you are no Hufflepuff,” it laughs. Alyssa snorts as well. Despite several of her mother’s coworkers being Hufflepuffs — and pulling for her to be sorted into the house — she knows she won’t fit in. “Gryffindor could teach you some,” the voice continues directly in her ear. “But not enough…” It almost seems as though the hat has forgotten it’s even on her head. “Greenes have always been a mystery,” she’s informed. “But, you all lack the willingness to lean into yourself. It is your most apparent flaw, from my perspective. Who are you, Ms. Greene?” the hat asks. “You know inside,” it urges. “You know who you are.”

Alyssa resists, telling it that she has no idea. 

She doesn’t know who she is! She’s only ten! 

The hat is silent, waiting, searching—

She stays quiet, keeps her mind empty, too. 

“I suppose that’s my answer,” the hat mumbles. It seems a bit frustrated for a moment, weighing its options, the pros and cons, before it makes a decision. “That means it ought to be… Slytherin!” 

Alyssa sits up straighter. Mom’s going to be so proud. 

“Who do you want to be?” the hat asks one last time. “Think on it. For now, farewell, Greeneling. Perhaps we shall meet again one day.” 

***

For years, those words ring through Alyssa’s ears. 

Who do you want to be?

She’s found herself some, she thinks. She’s no longer afraid of herself, as she once was. She supposes she has the hat to thank. Now, she can’t imagine not striving for the top, can’t imagine not wanting to hold the MVP award at the end of the year for quidditch, can’t imagine not wanting to win the whole cup. She wants to be the best; that’s who she wants to be. 

And, well, if she’s honest, she wants to be Emma’s, too. Something else she was once afraid to admit. 

She wants to be happy. 

And she’s no longer afraid to say it. 

For so long, the fear that lived between her ribs was the knowledge that her parents were happy, too, that her mother has only known tragedy since her dad went missing. It had been a difficult thing to quantify, once, an even scarier fact to really face. 

Who do you want to be? 

If the hat were to wake up now, she could tell it. She finds the urge strong, and before she can stop herself, she drops the hat fully over her head, holding it up no longer and feeling ten all over again as the hat is still much too big and falls into her line of sight. 

For a moment, she thinks it may not wake up, but, instead, just like that first time, Alyssa almost jumps out of her skin when the hat speaks. 

“Hello, Greeneling,” it drawls. A chill rushes through her. “I must say, it’s rare that I grace the same head twice. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’ve thought about something you asked me, pretty much… every day,” she confesses readily, taking a deep breath. 

“I remember; who you want to be,” the hat laughs. “Did you figure it out?” it asks gently, though Alyssa is fairly sure that it already knows the answer. 

She pauses for a moment, answering yes, very much so; yes, silently, just as an ten-year-old Alyssa did. She gives it her memories willingly: top of the class, quidditch cup, and MVP. She hands it laughter with her friends, moments with Emma, the first time where she knew that she felt something different for her. She gives it every second of celebration, every second of work and effort and hardship. She tells it of her struggles, of her triumphs, of how they’re hers, how nobody can take them away from her. 

“It seems you have,” the hat says, and Alyssa can almost convince herself that it sounds proud, affectionate, even. 

“How did you know that’s what I needed?” The words fall out of her mouth before she even knows she’s asking them. 

“It’s all at my hat tip,” the voice teases, remembering the term coined by young Alyssa Greene. 

“But how?” she asks, feeling a little childish. 

The hat chuckles. “You were frightened of that ambition that drives you so,” it tells her, as if it isn’t one of the few entities to ever pick up on such a thing, as if it’s simple. “Which is precisely why you had to be surrounded by it; if you hadn't learned that you are allowed to want, to strive, who would you be?" It presses. “Would you be happy, Ms. Greene? Would you be solving your prophecy? Be top of the class? Would you be falling in love? Would you have the ambition to even be yourself?” 

“Excuse me?” Alyssa asks, not offended, but confused, intrigued.

“Ambition to be yourself is perhaps the most difficult thing to find,” the hat tells her wisely. “You needed a push!” Alyssa smiles at the enthusiasm, heart dropping a little at the next question in her ears. “You’re not afraid anymore, are you, Ms. Greene? Of what you want? Of what you ought to have?”

Her stomach flips as she realizes how honestly she can answer. “No. I’m not,” she agrees. “I’m not afraid anymore.”  

She’s breathless at her own outright admittance. 

“Then my job has been done,” the hat says, smug, before it softens, however much an enchanted hat can, that is. “I’m proud of you, little one. I knew you had it in you.”

“Thank you,” Alyssa breathes. She wants to say sir, or professor, or something, but she doesn’t exactly know—

“It’s just the truth,” comes the answer. If the hat’s lips could twitch, they would have, as it speaks. “I don’t have pronouns, Greene. I am a magical being. Why would I?” 

Alyssa smiles softly. “Just wanted to be sure.” She reaches up to push up the brim of the hat slightly up above her eyes, so she can look up at it in the mirror in front of her. “But I am honest in saying thank you again.”

“For what exactly, young one?”

Alyssa is surprised it’s not reading her mind, that it doesn’t know what she means. “I mean, thank you for not giving me the easy choice,” she corrects. “Thank you for the push.”

“Ah, my dear, you would have always found yourself,” the hat says, and somehow, Alyssa believes it, though she doesn’t question how it’s sure. “You just are perhaps your best self, now. Brilliant, you are, Greeneling. And you are like your father.”

It’s perhaps as kind and personal as the hat has ever been to anyone; it figures it’s with one of the longest hat stalls in history. 

Alyssa’s throat grows tight at the compliment. “Thank you,” she says again, eyes misty. “That means more than you know.” 

“Ah, but you forget, I know exactly how much it means,” the hat replies, seemingly aware of a clock that she is not at this moment as it continues. “Now, do us proud, Ms. Greene, yes? I hope that we may meet again.” 

“I’ll certainly try, and I hope so too,” Alyssa agrees. 

“Be safe out there.” Wise as ever, the drawl is comforting despite its stuffiness. “Stick close to your friends. Find your help from the places you least expect.” 

Alyssa opens her mouth to ask what that means, but she doesn’t get the chance. 

“Goodbye, Greene,” the hat bids. 

“Goodbye,” she barely manages, before she feels it go limp against her head. 

She sighs. Another day, another mystery. She pulls the hat from her head at the thought, reaching up to place it back in its spot. 

Just as she’s doing so, she hears footsteps echo up the staircase. She turns, folding her hands behind her back. 

“Ah, Alyssa,” Headmaster Hawkins greets her with a warm smile. “Early as always, I see.”

She smiles. “Headmaster. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” He moves to his desk, gesturing. “Please, take a seat.”

She does, curiosity piqued.

“Professor Dickinson and I have discussed this at length, and we think that you’re at a good age to learn about the… nuances of your father and his mission.” Alyssa’s breath hitches, but Hawkins continues. “Angie and I have devised a strategy to do just that; using a pensieve, and borrowing a few memories, you will come to my office once a week and delve into the past, accompanied always by myself, Angie…”

“Or me,” someone finishes from behind Alyssa, and she spins around in glee.

“Mom?” Alyssa jumps up, rushing to greet her with a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, of course, and to be here for this,” she says, pulling a very specific looking satchel off her shoulder and handing it over to her daughter. 

“To be here for what?” the girl asks, taking it from her, though unsure exactly why it feels like the most delicately important thing she’s ever held. “Mom, what even is this?”

The woman shifts from foot to foot for a moment and looks down, uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before she nods to herself, clearly steeling her emotions before raising her gaze and pointing. “Your father asked—'' she swallows hard— “He asked I give it to you. For your sixth year. If he wasn’t back. I’m here because I didn’t want to just owl it.”

Alyssa softens, taking it from her. “Oh,” she breathes. 

“They’re his memories,” Veronica informs. “Well, some of them. The ones he thought you would enjoy, and others he thought you may wonder about. There’s twelve in total. One for every year of schooling, and I’m honestly not sure what the other five are. He labeled them, though. Your dad, ever the planner.” 

The praise is bittersweet in tone. It’s only now that Alyssa can fully notice that there are tears in her mother’s eyes. She rushes forward to hug her again, not wanting her to cry. “Thank you, Mom.”

Her mother kisses the top of her head. “Of course. It’s what he wanted.” Her lips twitch in a sad smile before she releases her daughter after a final squeeze. “Now,” she starts, doing her best to brighten and gesturing to the bag. “You should get started on those. The headmaster and I will be here to pull you out if there are signs of distress, but this should be private between you and your dad…” She trails off, before adding, “Wherever he is.”

Alyssa nods. “Wherever he is.” She undoes the velcro on the bag at that, examining the first vile— the cork on top is labeled with a #1 in pen— filled with a wispy, luminescent thread, a memory. She pulls off the little wood piece, taking a deep breath as Hawkins waves his hand and the pensieve floats forward towards her. 

“Just hold your breath for a moment when you go under,” he coaches, gesturing for her to approach the basin. 

Walking carefully, she pours the memory into the pensieve, watching as it swirls.

“You ready?” Veronica asks. “I realize you probably don’t remember his voice.” 

Alyssa’s heart catches. His voice. She hadn’t fully realized what this means. She’s going to see her dad. Maybe not all the way in the flesh, but she’ll hear the timber of his speech, his laugh, hopefully. 

She swallows hard. “I’m ready.” 

Veronica nods. “Okay then. I hope that it’s a good one.” She points to the memory that’s floating.

Alyssa smiles, looking down at it. “Me too.” 

She looks back at Hawkins and her mother one last time, who both give her encouraging smiles, before she heaves in a breath and plunges into the coolness, falling down, down, down…. 

***

Alyssa lands with a thud, immediately doing her best to stand up and apologize to whoever may be in the room, when she suddenly notices the filmy quality of the room she’s in. 

Right. This is only a memory. But, as she looks around, she realizes that she recognizes her whereabouts. She’s at home in the living room. Taking it in, certain things are different: less pictures on the mantle, and the piano has a messy grouping of sheet music that’s tattered on the edges, as if played often. 

Alyssa takes a few steps forward, examining the photographs that do currently litter the room, smiling at one she knows well: Barry, Angie, Veronica, and Danny at some quidditch match, before she almost falls backwards at the sound of voices. 

“Is it cake time?” 

“No! Get back outside, you two!”

Alyssa’s heart drops into her stomach. Somehow, without even seeing them, she knows it’s her parents. Her mother sounds the same, albeit lighter, and her dad… well, Angie always said his voice was kind, but she never imagined this kind of warmth, this kind of love. 

She follows the sound, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, mouth dropping open slightly at the sight before her. 

Her father, mother, and a young, six-year-old Alyssa are in the kitchen while Barry, Angie, Trent, and Nicholas Boomer Sr. all hang around in the hammocks outside. 

“Can we have a little bite?” Danny asks, pouting. His daughter copies him; she’s holding his hand. 

“No,” Veronica answers, trying to remain strong under their coordinated attack. 

Alyssa can’t help but see how young her mother is, how the worry lines beside her eyes aren’t there yet. Her face is thinner, her eyes brighter. 

“Is there anything else we can eat?” Danny presses with a smile, the smile that Veronica so often talked about. It’s bright and perfect, a little off-center just like his daughter’s. 

“Vegetables,” Veronica snipes playfully. 

“Lame,” her husband replies. “Fine. We’ll wait like commonfolk!” he complains, faux lamentation in every bit. “Can’t believe you treat your family this way, Ronnie.” 

Veronica gasps as he walks away, grabbing his arm and shoving a piece of cake in his mouth. “There you go.”

He laughs around the bite, frosting covering his upper lip and onto his nose. 

“And you, munchkin!” Veronica grabs her daughter around the middle when she tries to scamper off. “I guess you’ll need some frosting too, huh? Since you and Dad came in trying to steal some? You’re both such troublemakers.”

“Mommy, no!” Alyssa shrieks with laughter when frosting smears across her cheek. 

“What’s going on in here?” Barry grins, peeking his head around the corner. 

The man looks so young, sporting a full head of hair, a flannel, and jeans, nothing like the Barry she knows now. His eyes are the same clear blue, though much more innocent, and every one of his features is much more carved. 

“Mommy’s chasing me!” Alyssa giggles, hiding behind her uncle’s legs. 

“She got cake all over us!” Danny adds, still licking his lips and wiping his face with a towel. 

“Ronnie!” Barry reprimands, grinning all the while. “How could you?” Alyssa laughs as he picks her up onto his back. “Do I have to protect ‘Lyssie from now on?”

Alyssa’s heart clenches as she watches the scene continue to move in front of her; her mother chases Barry out of the kitchen with an animated spoon, a young her in his arms as he cries out in fake fear and hides behind his husband. She doesn’t follow them out, though, instead watching her parents together, as her father wraps an arm around her mother and kisses the side of her head. 

They sway back and forth to non-existent music, whispering sweet nothings. Veronica laughs at something Danny says, spinning around to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Love you,” she mumbles. 

“Love you too.” He grins. 

It’s only now that Alyssa realizes that she’s crying. There’s so much she doesn’t know, so much that could have been. But Daniel Greene is dead. And all that’s left are the memories he pulled, knowing he may not return, knowing that this might be all she ever really knows of him. She sniffles, using her sleeve to wipe away some of the tears, but her brow furrows in confusion when she sees that her dad doesn’t follow as Veronica moves from under his arm and grabs the cake. 

Danny waves at Angie from the window; clearly, they discussed that he was off to do something. He sighs, tapping his knuckles onto the counter for a moment, wiggling his toes against the mat in front of the sink, seemingly trying to memorize every detail.

There’s still a soft smile on his face, but his eyes are sad. His gaze fixes on his friends through the window before he turns away, striding towards his study. 

Alyssa follows curiously, doing her best to match his footsteps even though he won’t ever know that she did. She memorizes the weight of them, their rhythm, looking up when they finally stop. 

Danny sits down at his desk, pushing his glasses up his nose. They’re glasses just like the ones his daughter will pick out years later, ones that will make Veronica have to leave the room because those eyes and those frames just about remind her of everything she’s lost in one swoop of her stomach. 

He pulls open his drawer and grabs a notebook, placing it on his desk carefully before he grabs a quill to write. 

It’s odd, really; there isn’t a single bit of writing on the paper, and it only starts to fall into place when he speaks the words aloud as he scribbled ink across the parchment. 

“My dearest Alyssa,” he begins. “If you’re reading this, I’m sorry.” 

Knees weak, Alyssa forces herself to continue to watch, knowing that if her mom or Headmaster Hawkins notices any distress, they’ll pull her from this moment; she has to see this. 

Danny swallows hard. “If you’re reading this, it means I never came home.” His quill hovers over the page as he clearly tries to formulate his thoughts, a humorless, melancholic chuckle rumbling in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I know it won’t mean much when you read this, but you should know. You should know that all of this is for you, so you don’t have to live in a terrible world. Nevertheless, I cannot deny that with my absence, your mother will be undoubtedly sad, that you will have to grow up much faster than I ever wished you to.” His quill scratches across the paper until there’s no ink left and he has to dip it into the well again. 

Again, Alyssa feels tears in her eyes. She’s seeing so much of her father, so much she never knew. She’s never even read this letter before. Idly, she wonders if it’s hidden somewhere, if she’ll finally be brave enough to look around on his desk when she returns home. Maybe it’s been hiding in plain sight; maybe—

“Wherever I am, know that I love you,” Danny continues. 

Alyssa’s heart stutters over itself. She couldn’t remember her father’s voice enough to know what those words sounded like from his mouth. She tucks the knowledge away, allows the sound of it to ring through her cavern of her chest, suddenly feeling much more whole than she ever has before, despite thinking that she was surely complete, now, with her friends, with her sense of purpose, with Emma. 

But that was before. Before she knew this part of her was even missing. 

“Wherever I am, know that I miss you. Remember to look to the skies; I’ll always be watching over you. I love you, my Little Falcon.” Danny is crying, now; he can’t help but think what this means, can’t help but realize this means that he’s really going, really leaving Alyssa, Veronica, his friends. “I love you so much. You’re my best bit of magic, my finest creation and achievement. I already know that you’re brilliant. I already know you’re going to change the world.” He pauses for a moment, unsure how to continue. “I love you. I love you. I love you. If you ever doubt how much, just read this. I love you so much. I’m going to make this world right for you, make you proud — or die trying. May we see each other soon. Be safe. Love, your dad.”

More than anything, Alyssa wishes she could hug him, to tell him just how proud she is, that she loves him too. As if on cue, footsteps patter into the scene. 

Danny’s pulse turns over, trips, falls the way it did when Alyssa was first born when his daughter rushes in. 

“Dad! Come have some cake!” 

Danny shuts the notebook as quickly as he can, looking down, hiding his face. “One moment, honey, okay? You go on ahead.” His voice quivers. 

Young Alyssa frowns. “Dad? What’s wrong?” she asks. She toddles forward, reaching for his hand. “Are you crying?” 

“I’m fine, baby,” her father replies. “I’m fine. I just need—”

Alyssa climbs up onto his chair, hiking herself onto the little bar connecting the legs so that she can make her way into his lap to hug him. “Don’t cry, Dad!” Alyssa urges, hanging onto his shoulders. “It’s Aunt Angie’s birthday! There’s chocolate cake.”

Danny smiles at her, watery and loving. “You make good points, ‘Lyssie.”

Alyssa grins at him, innocent and perfect and untouched by the world as she kisses his cheek. “Of course I do! Chocolate cake is the best!” 

Danny kisses her forehead at that, holding her close, staring down at his closed notebook, at the letter he wrote this little girl who’s growing every day, this little girl who may do all of it without him. 

“I love you, Alyssa,” he murmurs. 

“Love you too, Dad!” Alyssa hugs him again. She cuddles against his neck, and he holds her close, writing a last note at the end of the letter that he just remembered. 

Alyssa wanders over so that she can read it. 

P.S. I hope everything you find in this notebook is useful! I tried to think of anything that might happen and have a solution. I love you. I love you so much. 

May 17, 2008. 

Alyssa’s throat tightens. She wants to know what he wrote, wants to know what advice he could possibly give. She thinks about her first kiss with Emma, about her grief, about how all she wanted to know was what her father thought. She tries to peer over his shoulder, but before she can get a better look, a voice interrupts. 

“Dan.” Barry knocks. “Come outside.” 

Danny looks up and nods. “One sec.” 

Barry leans against the door. “The ladies are getting anxious.”

The man laughs. “Alright. Alright. I’m on my way.” He nudges Alyssa gently. “Hop down, baby,” he whispers. “Dad has to get up.”

Alyssa nods, scampering off the chair and towards her uncle. Danny follows suit, reaching for a satchel— a satchel Alyssa recognizes— and pulling up a structure holding up vials that are still empty and placing it beneath them before replacing and shutting the case. 

“Okay. I’m ready.” He turns to his daughter and best friend. He smiles down at Alyssa. “What was this about chocolate cake?”

***

Alyssa falls backwards as she’s thrusted from the memory, falling on the ground before her mother or Hawkins can catch her. Her face is still wet, and she realizes that despite the fact that she was crying in the memory, her face is also tear streaked in the living world. She wipes at her eyes, looking down

“Alyssa?” her mother prompts gently. “Are you alright?” 

Trying to catch her breath, Alyssa leans her head against her knees, sitting up against the wall. “I’m—” 

Is she okay? 

When she looks down at her hands, she realizes how much she’s shaking. “I’m fine,” she tries to say, but she barely recognizes her own voice. She can only think of her dad, of Daniel Joseph Greene writing her letters and notes in a journal in case he never came home, her loving, generous father who should be here but isn’t. 

Gulping in a breath, she finally looks up, and she’s immediately met by two pairs of concerned eyes, as well as— 

Finding an unknown strength, Alyssa rushes to the satchel sitting on Hawkins’ desk, ignoring both of the adults who ask what she’s doing. Carefully, she pulls the vial-holder from the bag, heart flipping when she sees the journal she saw in the memory nestled into the empty space. 

Danny (2008) is embossed in the top right corner, and in the bottom left, For Alyssa is also imprinted into the leather. Gently, she pulls the leather book free, unspooling the string that’s wrapped around the front hook and keeping the cover shut. 

When she finally manages to undo it, she breathes a sigh of relief when she sees the first words at the top of the page: 

My dearest Alyssa. 

For the first time, she’s able to truly process what she’s just discovered, what it means; she also notices that she and her dad have similar handwriting. It makes her smile. 

For now, she closes the journal, knowing she’ll want to take the time to really study it in private, to find out everything she possibly can about her dad from its pages. 

“2008 was always missing,” Veronica observes from a few feet away. “Good to know your father didn’t just straight up lose it; that would be so like him.” 

Hawkins snorts, clearly agreeing. 

Alyssa laughs. “No! It’s something he left me. It had advice, information, a letter from him,” she tells them. “He filled this whole thing just for me.” 

“Also the most Daniel thing I’ve ever heard,” Hawkins adds. Veronica nods. They all bask in the silence for a moment; it’s the easiest quiet in ages, more peaceful and content than they deserve, perhaps, considering the state of the world. Hawkins finally claps his hands together, just before Alyssa’s fingers itch to pull the journal open again. “It’s getting late,” he says matter-of-factly. “Dinner will be served soon. You should get going, Alyssa.” 

Alyssa nods. “Right.” She pauses, pulling in a shaky, deep breath before she continues. “Thank you for this, sir,” she tells him, then turning to her mother. “Thank you, Mom.” 

“It was time,” Veronica answers softly. “It’s what your father would have wanted.” 

Tearing up again the smallest bit, Alyssa rushes forward to hug her one last time. “I’ll see you at Christmas,” she whispers. “I love you.” 

Veronica kisses the top of her head. “I love you too. Now, you go have dinner, alright? And take good care of that journal.” 

“I will,” Alyssa promises, bowing her head briefly to Headmaster Hawkins before she waves a final time, grateful as she catches a glimpse of the man lifting the memory strand from the basin and places it back in its vial before shutting the satchel. 

“Goodbye, Alyssa,” he calls. “See you next week!” 

“See you next week,” she agrees, before the door falls shut.

Chapter Text

All of dinner, Alyssa keeps to herself, unspooling a thread carefully as Emma puts potatoes on her plate. Absently, she kisses her cheek, murmuring, “Thanks, love.” 

“No problem,” Emma answers, while Kaylee pretends to gag at the other end of the table. Ever since the end of last year, they’ve all started eating together. It’s an upside of being one of the older students at Hogwarts: the lesser house split-up. 

Normally, this results in at least an argument between the single folks at the table and the taken folks, but tonight, not a word comes from the Slytherin prefect. 

For once, Alyssa doesn’t even look toward her friend from the pages. 

Instead, she finds herself engrossed in her father’s words. She reads the letter all over again, taking note of the way her handwriting is so similar to her father’s: slightly loopy and messy on the Ms and Ks. Flipping to page two, she almost laughs aloud when she reads the title. 

Why the Falmouth Falcons Are the Best (Ten Reasons of Many!) 

Her eyes scan over the points, finding that she agrees with every single one, especially point seven which talks about how they’re not afraid to fight for what they want. She smiles; Angie had raised her on the Falcons, telling her how much her dad loved them, but it’s nice to see how passionate he was. 

You are like your father. The Sorting Hat’s voice echoes in her head. 

As she gets to the bottom of the page, she notices a tiny postscript written in a different shade of ink. 

☆ Memory #2! 

Suddenly, Alyssa understands. Gently, she flicks through the corners of the next few pages, finding them all to have the same blue ink and star with a number attached, along with a note or a list. 

Your dad, ever the planner. It’s her mom’s words that rush through her, this time. 

Alyssa’s heart swells. Her dad figured out everything, all that he could, so that she could know him, even if not in the flesh. Idly, she traces his handwriting, trying to imagine him writing out this list; maybe he was watching a game, a Falcons’ beanie on top of his head and snacking on crisps. 

Vaguely, she can remember being six years old, sat between her aunt and her father, her mom making lunch in the kitchen while they all cheered and hollered. Suddenly, she even recalls Danny even lifted her in the air when the Falcons won the championship. 

Grinning softly, Alyssa finds that’s a good place to stop for today; there’s no reason to take in the journal all in one go. It’s meant to be special, cherished. Still, she allows her newly unlocked memory to continue to play in her head — her mom made hamburgers, if she remembers right — as she refastens the clasp on the front, starting slightly when she feels a head lean against her shoulder before she relaxes upon realizing who it is. 

“Hi,” she murmurs, turning her head to the side to kiss Emma’s forehead. 

“Hi,” Emma replies. “What’s that?” She points to the journal. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Alyssa promises, grabbing her fork for the first time to take a bite of her dinner. “Meet me at the Room of Requirement?”

“Ms. Greene!” Emma stage whispers, pretending to be shocked. “Are you suggesting we sneak out?”

Alyssa blushes. “Maybe I am.”

“Eight o’clock?” Emma asks. 

“Eight o’clock,” Alyssa agrees, pressing a kiss to her girlfriend’s lips. 

***

Alyssa waits behind a tapestry in the third corridor, watching the Marauders’ Map for Emma’s footsteps approaching. Her father’s journal is tucked into her backpack, along with an extra blanket in case the room doesn’t provide it. Sometimes, it’s temperamental, they’ve found, and she likes to be prepared. 

Leaning against the wall, she starts when she finally sees Emma’s name appear near her. 

“Nox,” she murmurs, putting out her wand and shoving it into her back pocket before she jumps out from behind the tapestry. 

“Ah!” Emma gasps quietly, before softening when she sees that it’s not a ghost or unwelcome prefect like she thought. She smiles, raising a finger playfully. “You saw nothing.”

“Saw what?” Alyssa plays along for a moment before teasing, “You mean when I just saw you almost yell because your girlfriend jumped out from the spot she always does?”

“Shut up,” the Hufflepuff grumbles, but she gestures Alyssa forward as she says it, clearly not mad at all. Alyssa snuggles there, draping Emma’s arm over her shoulder so they can start walking toward the end of the hall before turning around twice until the room pulls from the stone and a door appears. 

“You think it’ll be nice this time?” Alyssa jokes. “Remember last time there was no fireplace?”

“Yeah, and it was freezing,” her girlfriend complains. 

Alyssa laughs quietly, pulling Emma along and holding the door open for her. She smiles when she immediately feels warmth wash over her. There’s plush carpet under foot, and Alyssa’s heart flips over when she realizes that the couch is virtually the same as the one from her memory in the Dining Hall earlier. 

“Woah,” Emma breathes before she notices that Alyssa is completely still, eyes fixed on the lack black and silver blanket draped over the armrest; it’s the color of the Falcons. “You okay?” she whispers, walking up behind her until she can wrap her arms around the girl’s waist from behind and hook her chin over her shoulder. 

Nodding carefully, Alyssa turns around in her grasp so they’re practically nose-to-nose. She doesn’t realize that she’s trembling until Emma squeezes her.

“‘Lys?” 

“I saw my mom today,” she blurts out, looking down. 

“That’s nice!” Emma says, brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s wrong?” 

Alyssa shakes her head. “Nothing. Really nothing. Honestly, today was a really good day.” 

“Then why are you—”

“She gave me twelve of my dad’s memories,” Alyssa admits, still not meeting those hazel eyes that will make her melt if she isn’t careful; she has to get this out before she finds herself caught in Emma’s gaze, before this turns into kissing and holding each other until they can’t breathe. “In little vials. I watched the first one today.” 

“I imagine that was hard?” the girl asks softly. 

Alyssa nods, biting her lip. “Remember I told you that I couldn’t remember his voice?” she whispers. “I heard it today.” 

“Oh, love,” Emma sighs, sweeping Alyssa’s face into her hands. 

“My parents were so happy, Em,” she mumbles. “It was nice to see them like that, but—”

“But there’s so much that could have been,” the blonde fills in without missing a beat. She understands. Of course she does. 

“My dad left me this journal, too,” Alyssa tells her. She presses her lips together, pulling back slightly so she can swing her backpack off her shoulder. “It’s bits of advice, and a letter from him. They go with all the memories.” 

Emma waits for Alyssa to say something more, but she doesn’t. Nerves are written clear as day across her face. The Hufflepuff immediately knows what’s happening. 

“Would you like to show it to me?” she murmurs. Sometimes, Alyssa needs a push, just something tiny, a reassurance that she’s interested, that she cares.  

The girl nods again. “I would… if you’re okay with that.”

“I would love that,” Emma tells her, meaning it in a way she never knew it was possible to mean something. 

At that, Alyssa smiles, and though it’s slightly watery, it’s still Emma’s favorite view in the world. Before she knows it, she’s being pulled along toward the couch.

“His handwriting looks like mine,” her girlfriend tells her excitedly, pulling the notebook out and placing it on the coffee table. She untwirls the string again. “He wrote me a letter, and then the second bit is his top ten reasons why the Falcons are the best.” She laughs, flipping to page two. 

Emma can’t help but notice how happy she is; it makes her heart and stomach turn over all at once in every way that feels good. 

“I know that you’re partial to Puddlemere, so you don’t have to read if you don’t want. Besides, he wrote this like eight years ago—“ Alyssa starts. 

“I like them now because of you,” her girlfriend admits, blurts out, before she can think better of it. 

Alyssa melts a little at that. “Oh.” 

Emma nods. “I read up on their history. They’re a cool team.” She nudges her. “Show me the reasons.” 

She lets out an oof when Alyssa suddenly crashes into her, face pressed into her neck. “You’re something else, Nolan,” she breathes, shaking again. 

She laughs. “A good something else, I’d hope?”

“The best,” Alyssa mumbles, and Emma shivers when she feels her smile against her neck. “God, is it really gay to say that you make me super happy?”

“Just a little,” Emma teases, but she presses a kiss to her forehead. “You make me happy too.” 

“And you’re not just saying that because we have to solve a prophecy together and save the world?” the Slytherin jokes, still holding her girlfriend close on top of her. 

“Well, that’s most of it,” Emma replies with faux seriousness, though Alyssa can hear the amusement in her tone. “But you’re also my favorite person in the whole world. And I’m, like, super gay for you.” 

Alyssa pulls her down into a kiss at that, slow and sweet and deliberate, arms around her neck, fingers playing with the hair at the base of her scalp. Emma tastes like the hot chocolate from dinner, and the lavender scent of her laundry makes her impossibly giddy. For a moment, they stay pressed close just like that, feeling whole and happy, the world’s troubles forgotten within the confines of this room that provides anything they may long for, though Alyssa is sure that the peace that’s descended over this moment has nothing to do with the room and more to do with the fact that any time Emma is close she feels safer than she’s ever felt in her whole life. 

Emma’s hands grasp her hips, ever respectful, and finally, she pulls back, her breathing stuttered, a sheepish smile that manages to communicate that they wouldn’t want to get carried away without a single word. She brushes her lips over Alyssa’s a final time before she sits up, adjusting the beanie on her head and pulling it back down over her ears from where it started to slip off. 

“Are you going to show me those reasons now, or what?” she teases. “Or will I have to go back to my singular allegiance to Puddlemere?”

Alyssa rolls her eyes and sits up, shoving Emma playfully backwards as she goes before she picks up the book. Laughing, her girlfriend sits back up and leans on her shoulder as she starts to read. 

Alyssa tries not to blush. 

“Number one,” she begins. “They love to win, and, since the Broadmoor brothers retired, they do it fairly.” 

“Noted,” Emma mumbles, making an adorable gesture of I’ll remember that. 

“Number two: they make a point to search for an exceptionally talented seeker.” 

“A good choice,” her girlfriend comments, puffing out her chest in the way that always makes Alyssa laugh without fail. 

She snuggles closer, abandoning Alyssa’s shoulder and laying in her lap instead, staring up at her. Her heart swells slightly when she sees the flush that starts to rush down her girlfriend’s cheeks at the move. 

“Number three,” Alyssa continues, clearing her throat. “Every seat is a great seat at the Falcons stadium.” Her finger trails across the page. “Parentheses: your aunt and I are particular to Row E, Seats #7 and #8. It’s got access to the food carts, and the view is fantastic. End parentheses.” 

“Fifth row,” Emma muses. “Good seats.”

“I don’t remember going,” Alyssa admits, looking away from the pages to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “The last time I went I was like five or six. I never wanted to ask my mom or aunt to take me.” 

Emma tucks such information away for later, too. 

It goes on like that, Alyssa reading her father’s main reasons, Emma providing commentary, and soft conversation in between until the list is done and they’re both dozing slightly. 

“So that’s the memory you’ll watch next?” Emma asks, humming as Alyssa scratches at her head. 

“Yeah, though I don’t know what it actually is,” Alyssa replies. “It could be anything having to do with quidditch, I’d guess.” 

“Well then it’s like a little mystery until you can actually see!” the blonde says. “Part of the thing that makes it special is finding out, right?” 

Alyssa nods, a soft smile on her lips. “Anyone ever told you you’re brilliant, Nolan?” she asks, just as she always does when she’s floored by Emma, who always seems to know exactly the right thing to say, Emma, who never fails to banish any nerves. 

“Tell me again?” The corners of Emma’s lips turn up, and her eyes brighten, shy hope evident. 

“You’re brilliant,” Alyssa repeats. 

*** 

Descending into a memory is never totally pleasant, Alyssa finds. This time, she at least lands on her feet, but it was a long fall. Looking around, she searches for any familiar face, but it’s difficult, considering she’s been dropped into the middle of a moving crowd. 

This memory is different than the first, much more active, pushing her along, seemingly, toward a destination. She only realizes where she is when she looks up. 

Falmouth Stadium glitters over the entrance to the arena. 

“What were our seats again?” A young Daniel Greene, fully decked out in Falcons gear, turns to his best friend.

“Number six, seven, and eight!” Angie replies, waving the tickets in his face. 

Neither of them can be any more than twenty-five. 

A third voice throws in, “I still don’t understand why you two insist on having to watch in person.” It’s Veronica. “It’s perfectly fine from the television, and we could have many more snacks that weren’t overpriced and terrible for both of you.” 

“We have to live a little, my love,” Danny laughs, grabbing her hand. “C’mon. It’ll be fun. I know I’m going to have a great time, and I heard there’s a kiss-cam—”

“Oh gag me,” Angie grumbles jokingly. “If you two are going to turn this into one of your gross ass moments, I’ll give Barry my ticket and have him ask you sports questions the whole fuckin’ time.”

Danny’s eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.” 

“I so would,” Angie threatens. 

Alyssa laughs at that; it seems that her aunt lost none of her bite with age, though she doesn’t remember Angie’s language being so… colorful.

“Now, can we please get to our seats before the pre-game commentary starts?” 

Danny and Veronica both nod, following as their friend cuts through the crowd with her impressive aura alone.

Rushing after them, Alyssa blinks, and suddenly, she’s thrust forward slightly in time. She looks around at her view once more, finding that they’re now inside the stadium. She’s sat in a conveniently empty seat— number ten— and she feels as though she’s watching television, especially when she jumps out of her skin as sound fades in. 

“Number twelve is off to the races toward the goalposts!” the commentator cries. 

Danny and Angie are clapping loudly, while Veronica’s hand stays clasped in her husband’s even as he jumps to his feet. 

“Go! Go! Go!” the pair of best friends call as a player swoops by with the quaffle under his arm. 

“He’s going to score,” Danny breathes, as if trying to manifest it. “It’s going to happen. We’re going to be up fifty.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Angie hisses back, but her eyes are bright too. 

“He’s rounding the pitch!” the man with the microphone booms. “He winds up to shoot… Ten points! He’s done it!” 

The crowd roars, and Danny and Angie both high five before sitting down. 

“I hope our kid’s a chaser,” Danny whispers, leaning over to tell his wife. “I bet they’ll love quidditch. I’ll make sure it’s so.” 

Alyssa’s heart clenches. “I do love it! I am a chaser, Dad,” she says aloud, before remembering her dad can’t hear her. There’s so much she wants to tell him right now, so much she wishes he could know about her. 

“That sounds wonderful, Dan,” Veronica replies. “I can’t pretend to understand all this sports stuff, but I’m sure it will be fantastic.”

He grins, that bright, perfect grin that make people of all types look his way, but it’s only for Veronica, only for his wife, his one love. “It will be. They’ll be a big Falcons fan,” he promises. “None of that Harpy bullshit.”

“Dan!” his wife reprimands gently. “Don’t talk like that.” 

“They’re our rival!” Angie leans into the conversation. “We can talk however we want about the bastards.” 

Silently, Alyssa agrees, but her normal fire on the subject is stunted due to the circumstance and what she’s seeing. If she’s honest, this isn’t the Veronica Greene she knows. The Veronica Greene she knows gets just as excited about the Falcons as anyone, though she supposes that maybe that has to do with the fact that her father is gone, that her mom is trying to hold onto every piece that she can. The thought makes her throat tighten a little, but she refuses to allow it to dampen the mood too much. This is a good memory. A happy memory. 

Her dad wants her to be happy.

Veronica sighs. “You two are something else.”

Danny grins. “You love it.” 

“That my best friend and my husband are constantly causing trouble for me?” the woman quips. 

“It’s a good thing I’m so cute,” Danny jokes. “Otherwise you’d have done away with me long ago.”

“And it’s a good thing I’m so hilarious,” Angie adds.

“And humble too!” Veronica replies sarcastically, making both of them laugh. 

Their attention is pulled back to the game once more when the commentator’s voice grows increasingly excited.

“It seems that Meadowes has spotted the snitch!” he cries. “She’s looking left. She’s looking right.” 

The crowd oohs and cheers as the woman — a pair of goggles atop her head and her broom faster than a blaze — dives suddenly, whipping across the pitch, her eyes trained carefully. The Appleby seeker follows, but he’s so far behind that there’s no chance. 

Meadowes dives one last time, flipping briskly on her broom much to the crowd’s pleasure, before her hand closes around the little golden ball and its wings cease to flutter. She pulls up on the top of her broom just as she’s about to hit the ground, waving her arm in victory. 

“Meadowes has caught the snitch!” the commentator cries out, and Danny and Angie are brought to their feet once more.

Alyssa finds herself standing too, a smile spreading easily across her face. She’s only ever been to school quidditch matches, and while she’s had a hell of a time at those, this atmosphere is so different, so tangible. 

She watches as Angie and her father hug, able to see the beginnings of crows’ feet beside Danny’s eyes. 

He must have laughed a lot in his life. 

Even Veronica is grinning, clapping along as the Falcons cheer sings through the stands. 

Danny leans over once more. “I’m going to take our kid to so many games that they’ll get tired of me,” he promises. “I’ll get them all the Falcons gear! Hats, jerseys, robes, goggles! You name it!”

“I think she’ll love you for it,” Veronica replies before she realizes exactly what she just said. 

“She?” Danny asks, eyes curious, searching.

His wife pauses for a moment before she nods. “Yes. She.”

“‘S just a feeling, or…?” he searches, hope thrumming through his veins like a drumbeat. 

“She’s due in June,” Veronica whispers, just loud enough for him to hear. “The doctor said not to tell anyone; we don’t know if it’ll—”

“I’m going to be a dad?” Danny breathes, his gaze lighting up, grinning so bright it’s a wonder night is beginning to fall. 

Veronica presses her lips together so she doesn’t smile too wide. “You are.”

“And it’s a girl? Unless if they realize otherwise, of course.” 

She nods again. “I didn’t plan to tell you this way. But—”

He kisses her quiet, grinning into it. 

“Ronnie, I’m so happy,” he cries, clenching and unclenching his fists, unsure what to do. “This is wonderful news!”

“Really?” she whispers. “I mean, you know with my dad, and him leaving—”

“I’m not leaving this baby unless the world is suddenly taken over by an evil overlord,” he promises. 

Alyssa can’t help but laugh humorlessly at the dramatic irony of the moment. Again, she feels regret take hold in her chest. She wishes she could warn them, could tell them to get far away from here. 

“Good to know,” Veronica replies. She kisses him again, soft and breathless. 

Confusion falls over them both when there’s sudden cheering, before Angie shakes them. “You’re on the kiss-cam!” 

The couple laughs, and Veronica pulls her husband into a deeper kiss for a moment. “You were right,” she mumbles. “There is a kiss-cam.” 

“I’m always right,” he quips before he pulls back and looks at the camera. “I’m going to be a dad!” he tells it. 

The crowd roars again. 

“Congratulations!” the commentator cries into the microphone. “Good to see our Falcon ranks growing!”

Danny throws a thumbs up at the camera while Veronica shoves him playfully. “Are you going to go around telling everybody now?” 

He smiles at her. “Pretty much, yeah. I really hope our kid wants to play quidditch. I can teach her all the cool moves!”

“No flying until she’s five,” Veronica tells him forcefully. 

“Whatever you say.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Just know we’re going to be the biggest Falcons fans together. You’re going to have to tear us from the TV.”

Veronica laughs. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” 

Alyssa watches as he hugs her again, as Angie gives them a hug too and whispers her own congratulations, making declarations about being the cool gay aunt, and suddenly, a swelling of hurt and joy all at once fill her. It feels like she’s reminiscing, though she’s aware these aren’t her memories, that she didn’t even know anything of this day before she walked into Headmaster Hawkins’ office. 

Still, it’s as if her eyes have been opened. She gets why Angie and Veronica now stay glued to the TV; they’re trying to relive this feeling, this utter brilliance. They’re trying to bring something back, something they lost, something they now can’t get back. She knows for sure she’ll be a Falcons fan for life, now knows why her family was so adamant she love them, too. The team is woven into the very fabric of who she is, into the memory of the day she became more than just an idea, a tiny hope, for her father. 

And now, she understands why her aunt and uncle always come to watch her play, why they always hoot and holler from the stands and never schedule meetings during matches. 

Alyssa watches her parents and Angie stand up from the stands, examines the #6, #7, and #8 before her eyes, touches over the little placards which are worn in the best way from cheering and other happy moments just like the one she witnessed. She imagines her family coming here for years, even taking her — there’s one time she somewhat recalls her uncle talking about from when she was five that her father took her to a game — and she can do nothing but smile. 

There are no tears this time as she’s thrust from the memory.

***

“You never told me that Mom told Dad that she was pregnant at a quidditch game!” Alyssa laughs as soon as she’s back on her feet. 

“Did I not?” Angie asks, too innocent to be genuine. 

“No!” Alyssa replies. 

“Must have slipped my mind…” her aunt trails off. “Or maybe it’s because I knew your father would give you that memory,” she confesses. 

“He told you?” the girl asks, suddenly softening. 

Angie gives her a soft look. “Of course he told me.” She laughs, eyes growing far away. “He told me something about not spoiling all the good moments,” she recalls. “He wanted you to see that one for yourself. Made me promise ‘n’ all.”

“And you kept your promise,” Alyssa points out. 

Angie nods, smiling a little sadly. “We always kept our promises to each other,” she murmurs. 

“Maybe he’s still trying to keep his?” Alyssa tries to keep her voice hopeful. 

“Maybe,” Angie agrees, though it’s impossible to tell if her heart is really in it. “Now, it’s almost dinner time,” she reminds, voice a little tight, blue eyes liquid with regret. “You run along.”

Alyssa gives her a soft nod, moving to gather her stuff before she rushes forward and hugs her aunt. 

“Oof,” the woman laughs, hugging her back instantly, kissing the top of her head. “I’m okay,” she whispers. “Really.”

“I know you are,” Alyssa replies. “This is also a thank you hug for totally embarrassing my mom at every chance you got when you were younger.” She grins.

Angie practically cackles at that. “No problem, kid.” She squeezes her shoulder. “Go eat, now, though! I’m sure your friends are waiting. You still looking through that notebook your dad gave you?” 

If Alyssa hadn’t felt so overcome suddenly, she may have noticed the hinting in her aunt’s voice. Instead, she just nods. “I am. Dad was funny.” 

Angie smiles. “That he was.” 

***

“Listen up, chucklefucks,” Nick greets as he sits down at the Hufflepuff table with the rest of his friends, Cynthia trailing behind them. “‘Thia and I need help settling an argument. What’s the best professional quidditch team?”

“If your answer isn’t the Magpies, you’re wrong,” Cynthia says with a smile, “But I’ll still be nice to you.”

“C’mon babe, just admit that the Harpies are better,” Nick pleads. Across the table, Alyssa gasps, and Emma’s eyes widen. From what she learned for her girlfriend, this dinner is not going to be civil any longer.

“Binary,” Alyssa begins in a warning tone. “You like the Holyhead Harpies?”

“Yeah,” Nick replies, confused. “So what?”

“We can’t be friends anymore,” Alyssa replies evenly.

Nick’s expression remains confused for all of three seconds after she responds, before transfiguring into a look of utter betrayal. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re—”

“What, right? ” Alyssa’s voice rises in volume, and Emma tries to calm her down by putting a hand on her shoulder. “The Falcons are better, Nick!” As Emma sighs, already predicting the rest of this conversation, her girlfriend continues. “This is worse than when your dad—”

“Woah,” Emma interjects. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of an exaggeration—”

“No,” Nick cuts her off, “I agree. I can’t believe I’ve been friends with a Falcons fan this whole time! I trusted you, Scout!”

As the two friends descend into bickering, Emma casts a desperate gaze to Cynthia, who seems to be stifling laughter and will be no help in de-escalating this situation.

Luckily, Emma doesn’t have to de-escalate, because Alyssa and Nick seem to gain a psychic link as they turn as one to the table. “Shelby,” they say in unison. “What team is better?”

Shelby doesn’t even look up from her book to answer, much less move from her position leaning against Kevin. “Bold of you to assume that I know a quiffle from a snatch.”

Kaylee, from Emma’s other side, looks shocked. “How long have we been friends, ‘Bee? Have I taught you nothing?”

Emma is almost inclined to second the Slytherin, until she notices the shit-eating grin on the Ravenclaw’s face. “She messed up the names on purpose to aggravate you, Kaylee.”

At the mention of her name, Alyssa and Nick turn in tandem again. “Kaylee. What team is better?”

Kaylee shrugs. “Personally? I’m partial to the Cannons.”

“The Cannons?” The duo gasps, and Kaylee scoffs.

“I befriended you idiots,” she snarks, “And yet you’re surprised that I root for the underdogs?”

Alyssa narrows her eyes at Kaylee, while Nick shakes their head, leading Emma to relax slightly. Maybe they’ll lighten up?

She’s partially right, because while they turn in tandem again, they don’t speak together. “Kevin,” Alyssa begins.

Nick finishes. “What team is better?”

Kevin shrugs, somehow nonchalant. “I just cheer for whoever’s playing! I’m happy to root for everyone on a pro level.”

Alyssa and Nick are still and silent for a few moments after Kevin’s declaration of neutrality, and that scares Emma more than anything else the duo have done this meal. Still, despite her observation of pattern she nearly jumps out of her skin when they turn to her.

“Em—” Alyssa begins, but through her spiking heart rate and blind panic, Emma interrupts her.

“Who’s quidditch?” She blurts out before registering what she actually said.

Nick groans. “We all know you’re a Puddlemere fan, Nolan. Plus, you’re always going to take Scout’s side anyways. I guess since none of you have taste, or a backbone, we’ll drop the topic.”

Emma gapes, ready to fight back, but her cousin interrupts her before she can defend herself. 

“What am I,” Greg asks, from where no one asked him about his favorite team. “Chopped liver?” 

“No,” Kaylee replies just as Emma takes a sip. “Just a twink.”

She doesn’t mean to spew a mouthful of water onto Nick and Kevin across the table from her, but Emma did not expect those words to leave Kaylee’s mouth. As she cough-laughs and Nick and Kevin protest while Alyssa and Shelby actually laugh, Greg pouts.

“I hate this fucking family,” he mutters with absolutely no bite.

Chapter Text

They’re sitting in the library, at the table that has quickly become a group study space. If you had asked her second year whether Shelby would be content to have all of her friends crammed into the small alcove, pushing for more space on the table, she would’ve said you were nuts, but ever since she started meeting with Greg back in third year, things had changed.

She gently pushes Kaylee’s textbook away from where it was beginning to creep near the wet ink at the top of her scroll, and catches the small marble that Kevin just created from a wad of paper before it falls off the table. On the other side of the table sit Greg and Emma, their heads hovering over a textbook about countering dark magic.

The spot next to Emma sits glaringly empty, Alyssa having made yet another excuse at dinner about extra tutoring, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Shelby finishes up the passage she had been working on and glares at the seat. Alyssa doesn’t have to tell her everything; after all, every friendship has some secrets, but it’s been happening for weeks now and Shelby’s getting frustrated. “Are we just not going to talk about the elephant in the room?” Greg and Kaylee look a bit confused by her turn of phrase -- she supposes elephants aren’t very common in the wizarding world. “It means the big thing that no one’s talking about.”

“Ooh,” Greg says. “Like the gryffin in the attic.”

Shelby takes a second to wonder how on earth she's never heard that one before, and she almost asks what other idioms exist in the wizarding world before she remembers that she has a point to make. “Alyssa isn’t here.”

“We noticed.” Kaylee is also glaring at Alyssa’s empty seat, just as annoyed by her flighty behavior as Shelby is. “It’s not like we can do anything about it. She refuses to tell anyone where she’s going.”

“She’s getting some extra tutoring,” Emma says, not looking Shelby in the eye. Her attention is focused entirely on her quill as she fiddles with the end of the feather.

Shelby turns to Kaylee and they exchange a glance, thinking the same thing. Emma knows where Alyssa is. Kaylee smiles sharply, already planning something. Shelby takes a second to appreciate how amazing her best friend is. She’s expecting Kaylee to do something subtle, poke around the subject for a bit before going for the real questions, but instead she just looks at Emma with a calculating expression. 

“You know where she is,” Kaylee says, straight to the point. “Tell us.”

Emma’s face goes white and she stares incredulously at Kaylee. “What?” The way her voice cracks on the word gives away the lie. She buries her head in her hands and groans. “I’m not going to tell you. It’s Alyssa’s thing.”

Shelby can respect that; however curious she is, she appreciates that Emma didn’t just spill all of Alyssa’s secrets. Kaylee looks like she wants to say more but Shelby softly puts a hand on her arm, ignoring the tingling in her skin when she makes contact. “Fine.”

Emma opens her mouth a few times, like she wants to say something but can't find the words. “It’s not that she doesn’t trust you guys, it’s just—”

“Private?” Shelby asks, only a little sarcastic. A new thought occurs to her and she looks at Emma more closely. “She’s okay though, right?”

“Alyssa? She’s fine.” Emma looks surprised by Shelby’s words, as if she couldn’t imagine how Alyssa could be in danger, which makes Shelby feel slightly better since it means Alyssa’s definitely safe, but also makes her feel worse because it’s just another reminder that Alyssa isn’t telling her something. She missed the simplicity of the earlier years at school, back when they didn’t have to worry about things like secrets and dark magic. 

***

Your Gifts So Far (Explained!) 

Hi Little Falcon!

I hope that I’m explaining these to you in person, but if I’m not, I hope that you’ve enjoyed every gift that you’ve received from me so far. I’m so sorry that I’m not there. I wish I was. Please know that. For now, I really hope that you aren’t too angry that I’m gone, and that you’ll read what I have to say on each up till fifteen. The rest will show up in time. It’s enchanted to show up as your birthdays come!

Love, 

Dad

1. Eight Years Old: Falcon Junior Broom 
   • Your mom laughed when I showed this to her, but that tiny toy broom won’t fit you soon! I know that you’ve since grown out of it; I mean, you’re fifteen years old as you read this, but I really hope that you thought it was cool as I thought it was!

Alyssa smiles, recalling how she used to zip around the house on her tiny toy broom, and the moment her mom finally let her out— with Angie’s supervision— to fly on the broom her dad got her for her eighth birthday. She’d never been so high in the air in her whole life, had never felt so absolutely free. It’s the same kind of feeling she gets when she flies now but bigger, better, bolder, now that she has her own wings, now that her falcon form allows her to take flight whenever she’d like. 

Idly, she wonders if her dad knows— if he knows how much she’s grown to enjoy the freedom of the wind in her hair, if he knew all along how it felt and wanted her to have it too— she can’t help but wish he were here so she could ask. 

Shaking herself free from the thought before it can pull too heavily on her heart, her eyes drift to the third entry, the second a recounting of how he picked out her favorite beanie— which, coincidentally, is perched on her head just as she reads— and the History of Magic for Kids that still lives on her shelf back home, beat up and well-loved as Uncle Barry likes to put it. 

3. Ten Years Old: 100 Chocolate Frogs + Falcons Goggles
   • Okay, before you judge me for the first bit (I’m sure that you did), it’s a tradition in my family! My dad gave me a hundred chocolate frogs, and his dad gave him a hundred; it was something about making friends or something. A little secret? I gave them only to your aunt, uncles, and mom that whole year, and I told my dad I had a ton of friends when I came home because they were all gone.
   • I hope you try out for the quidditch team! The goggles would come in handy. I really like the silver and black print on the side, and you can change their size as you grow older! I bet you’re awesome at quidditch, kid. 

Alyssa snorts quietly, eyes rushing to check that her roommates are still asleep. She’s reading by wand-light now, having been so swamped this week with work that despite the fact that she normally likes to take in a page throughout the course of the week to prolong the warmth that rushes through her whenever she reads the words scrawled neat and quick across the page, whenever she realizes that she’s become so accustomed to her father’s voice that now, she reads the journal with the timber and tone of his speech mind. 

She had always wondered what the purpose of one-hundred chocolate frogs was— her mother didn’t seem too pleased with the amount of sugar that Daniel seemed to be encouraging her to consume— and her stomach turns happily when she suddenly uncovers the memory of showing Kaylee and Shelby her stash, making them swear that they wouldn’t give it away to anybody else. 

Just like your father, several voices echo in her head at once. She grins to herself. It seems as though— despite the fact that she’s sure her dad intended for her to have more than two friends for her first three years of schooling— whatever spirit he imbued into those candies helped her out in every way they could. 

She makes a mental note to buy more chocolate frogs from Saperstein's next time she and Emma go into Hogsmeade, which will likely be after the next quidditch matchup. 

As she continues to read, she absently summons the goggles her father gave her, the same ones she still uses on windy days. Over the years, Barry, Angie, and even her mother, have all offered to buy her new ones, but she’s never been able to part with the black and silver frames. 

In this moment, she wants nothing more than to be able to point to her achievements— MVP of the four houses last year, star chaser for Slytherin— and tell her father everything, tell him I did try out, Dad. I tried out with my best friend, and we both made it, even though we were just second-years! She wants nothing more than for him to know, than for him to be proud. 

Quietly, she imagines that he is, hopes that he is, and, somewhere deep, somewhere she’s never allowed herself to go before, she finds herself sure, somehow, that he would be, if he were here. 

4. Eleven Years Old:  Quidditch Through The Ages + My Favorite Set of Pens
   • First year done! I’m so proud of you! I hope you enjoyed this copy of Quidditch Through the Ages— I asked Flourish & Blotts to send the newest edition to my vault just before your birthday— I know there’s a whole section on the British and Irish League in there! It was one of my favorite books when I was a kid.
   • I know quills are traditional, but I really do like these pens. They’re enchanted so the ink never runs out, and I got you a few different colors! I hope they help you be the best student you can be. 

For a moment, her hands quiver as she registers the fact that she’s using the back of one of the very pens her father gave her to help her eyes track down the page. Her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages is in her trunk; despite the fact that she’s read it dozens of times, she can never bear to leave it at home. It’s always brought her some comfort, knowing that some piece of her father is with her, and now that she knows how much thought, how much poignancy each gift possesses, it only serves to push more warmth through her veins. 

With this in mind, her eyes sweep over ages twelve through fourteen, throat growing salty at how much her dad put into all of this. He wanted so much to make her feel loved. On her bedside table, she looks to the muggle autobiographies he bought her for thirteen, pointing out that it’s important to understand those different from them, to the Falcons pin that sits on the inside of her quidditch robes every time she plays a match. 

She only allows the thoughts to linger for a moment, as she’s pulled from them completely when age fifteen catches her eye. 

8. Fifteen Years Old: Falcons Jacket + Marauders’ Map.
   • I have a jacket just like this one! It’s super nice for English winters, and I think the patterning on it is super cool. I hope you like it as much as I like mine. You can ask your mom, but I pretty much wore it every day of seventh year, so much so that she had to get me a new one because it was fraying at the seams! 

Alyssa can’t help but laugh at the thought of her mother wandering into a Falmouth Falcons shop looking to buy a new jacket for her then boyfriend. It’s a nice thought, though, to know how much her mom cared about her dad, to look for his size in town, to wander into a place so un-her. It makes her smile. 

Quietly, she imagines that her mother wore her father’s coat, too, the same way that the Falcons jacket her father is discussing in his note is likely wrapped around Emma’s shoulders as she falls asleep. If she’s honest, she hasn’t come back to her dorm with it in months. Emma always steals it, looking soft and sweet, the sleeves just a little too short for her, the hood falling into her eyes. 

The very thought makes her heart swell, but she forces herself not to dwell on it any longer, jumping to the second point, a hopefully long-awaited explanation to the sheet of parchment that’s right beside her bed as she reads. 

• • Ah, yes. The map. By now, I’m hoping that you’ve learned how to use it, yes? Well, the map is something the five of us made (your mother, me, Barry, Angie, and Nicky) during fifth year after… well, you’ll see as you read further into this. We made it because we started to notice secrets, started needing to meet up, and we had to make sure it was safe— none of us wanted to get into the kind of trouble that caused detention! It’s meant as a tool of defense, not as an offense, bu, there are some fun little additions in it. It’s possible you or your friends have seen a few of them by now! If not, the memory should help. I thought about giving you a memory of me going around Diagon Alley and trying to pick things out, but I ended up deciding that would be super fucking boring (please don’t tell your mom I curse in this). So, I decided on this one. It’s a good view of how we were… before. Before I went away. Before the world changed. And you’ll see me hand off the map! 

Alyssa allows the book to fall against her lap. It all makes sense, suddenly. Who else could have given her the map? She grabs it, unsure what to do besides murmur, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” 

She watches, as always, as it unfurls, registering the five names. It’s unclear what they mean, at least for now, but if there’s anything Alyssa can count on, it’s the fact that her father’s memories will help. She clutches the map in her hands tighter; it’s a little piece of family history. 

***

May 7, 2008. 

Surprisingly, when Alyssa lands in her father’s memories this time, she recognizes where they are despite its unfamiliarity: the Room of Requirement. 

There’s something about the atmosphere, the easiness of the air. She stands back, this time not having to wait too long before three familiar faces enter through the door. 

Danny flops into his usual chair that appears in the Room of Requirement, while Angie settles onto the floor, and Barry drapes over the couch. 

“Ronnie coming?” Barry asks, finding it odd that the couple is apart. 

Shaking his head, Danny looks down. “No. She isn’t,” he breathes. “Neither is Nicky -- this is a conversation I want to have with just you two.”

Alyssa perks up, mirroring the action that her aunt and uncle take. 

“What’s up?” Angie asks while Barry flattens out the lapels of his blazer, as if to signify that he’s listening more carefully.  

Danny takes a deep breath. “You know that mission the Order was talking about?” he asks, twirling his wedding ring on his finger. 

“The infiltration one?” Barry straightens, suddenly intrigued. 

Suddenly, Alyssa knows the purpose of this memory, knows why her father is showing her. It tugs on her heart as she can do nothing but watch, but wait, unable to warn them of what’s to come. 

His best friend nods. “Bingo. It got approved.”

“That’s brilliant!” Angie exclaims, confused why Danny isn’t more thrilled. “That means we’ll have somebody on the inside, right? Two people if we’re lucky, really.”

“This could be the end of the war!” Barry adds, rejoicing. “If this all goes according to plan, we’ll have information that You-Know-Who will never know how we got. We could use this.” He rubs a hand over his face in excitement. “Lord, this is the best news in weeks. I wonder who they’ll pick?” he rambles. “Somebody strong. Somebody they can trust—”

Suddenly, he looks up. It hits him right between the ribs. When he locks eyes with Angie, she seems to know, too. 

Alyssa feels the air leave the room, feels like she’s really there, even though she knows she’s practically watching film play out. Her stomach flips over when she hears her uncle speak. 

“No,” Barry breathes, practically reading his friend’s mind as he turns to Danny, who doesn’t deny it. 

Angie’s brow furrows. “Dan!” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You?”

Danny nods somberly. “They asked for me,” he tells them. “Specifically. I couldn’t say no.”

“Is that why Ronnie’s a no show?” Angie asks softly. 

He nods. “We got into it.” He drops his face into his hands. “And I know! I know Alyssa is almost seven. I know that this isn’t fair. I know that it’s dangerous. But they asked for me. What did Professor Allen always used to say?” he asks, making a point. 

“Everybody has a part to play,” Barry and Angie recite back automatically. “Even you, Boomer,” they imitate, having the best laugh they can out of it, despite the terrifying nature of the news. 

The gentle, tentative laughter in the room lifts Alyssa’s spirits slightly, though not enough. She knows who Boomer is, knows what he’ll do. Her fist clenches, wishing, again, that she could tell these younger versions of the people she loves how little time they have left, that they should tell each other how much they care, before it’s too late. 

A melancholic chill rushes through Alyssa as she forces herself to turn her attention back to the scene, as she hears her father make a declaration that hurts her to the very center of her bones. 

“Maybe this is my part to play,” Danny says, trying to remain bright now that some of the gloominess of the room has lifted with the joke. “Maybe this is how I help us win.”

“God, you’re so annoying,” Barry grumbles playfully. “Always have to be the hero.”

Angie points at him at that. “Plume’s right,” she says. “Why do you always have to be? Why not somebody else for once?”

Plume must be Barry. Alyssa thinks of the map. Messrs—

“Don’t do that, Padfoot,” Danny breathes. “You sound like Veronica! Please don’t talk me out of this.”

“And Padfoot is Angie,” she murmurs to herself, even though nobody can hear her. The very fabric of her insides tears on either end as her aunt’s voice interrupts her thoughts. 

“Why not?” Angie fights. “You have a daughter! You have a family. You don’t have to play hero anymore. Play dad for a little while!”

Yes. Play Dad, Alyssa wants to cry, wants to shake this man in front of her, this noble son of a bitch who could have been home, who could have held her at night, who she has nightmares about, who she wouldn’t have nightmares about if had he stayed. Tell her yes. Tell her you’ll stay, she begs, even though she knows that’s not how this story starts, not how it ends. 

She hates the way that what Daniel says next makes sense. 

“Name somebody else you trust outside this room and my wife to get that job done,” her friend replies without missing a beat, as if he prepared himself for this argument. 

Angie can’t. 

Neither can Barry. 

“You see what I mean?” he asks. “We can’t send anybody else, not alone, anyway! And yes, Alyssa is turning seven. Yes, I want to be a dad! But what kind of dad would I be if I let her grow up in a world like this?”

Silence, again. 

“You’ve really thought this through, huh, Vision?” Angie mumbles. 

Alyssa’s heart jumps into her throat. Her father is Vision. She holds the knowledge close to her chest, repurposes it into something close to warmth, close to being near to him. 

She supposes it’s fitting; Daniel Greene did always seem to have the answers, the knowledge to look past the present and into what was coming. 

Danny nods. “I have.” He takes a deep breath. “And I would really appreciate your support. Both with convincing Veronica, and with the plans I’ve been making.”

“Well, the former’s a given,” Barry snorts. “You know it’s always taken all three of us to convince that woman. She’s stubborn as hell!” Actually laughing at that, Danny concedes the point without a word, allowing the professor to continue. “But what do you mean by plans?”

Angie waves her hand in agreement, as if to say ‘seconded.’ 

Danny heaves a breath. “They’re plans for Alyssa,” he admits. “Birthdays, holidays, firsts. Things I could miss if I—”

“Don’t,” both of his friends interrupt at the same time. 

“Don’t,” Alyssa agrees, even though not a soul can hear her. 

The man swallows hard, refusing to answer on the particular point. “I’m buying presents right now. There will be one for every year, every milestone, at Gringotts until she’s twenty-one. Just in case...”  He doesn’t fill in the rest. “And I’ve written out everything else I want. She should have a broom,” he tells them, and the excitement in his voice only makes this moment simultaneously more somber and brilliant all at once. “A proper one. The best there is. And new shoes every year. All the books that you can find in the world! You know, she’s only six but—”

“—but she’s already trying to take books off of your shelf,” Barry and Angie chorus back playfully. 

Danny blushes. “Do I really talk about her that much?” he asks. 

“No more than any good father should,” Barry assures, and how much he means the words is clear, how much authority he has on the matter, Danny knows. 

A good father. Alyssa’s body contracts in on itself. Her dad was a good father, was trying to be, had every marking of someone who could have been a great parent, if he had only stayed, if he had only— 

Alyssa shakes herself free of the thought. She has no right to wish that her father picked her over their world, over the world that would become hers, the one he was trying to make safe for her. 

Still, her heart cracks in two— into the young Alyssa who still holds hope deep in her chest and the one who’s accepted the way this man, her father, meets his end— as she studies him for any sign of regret, for any sign of uncertainty. 

She finds none, and, somehow, that makes her admire him even more. 

Smiling, Danny marvels at his life for a moment, cast in perpetually dying firelight, the kind that they always sat by as kids. He wonders if the room recognizes them as those students, those children, who were just looking to find their place in the world, before they knew of war and terror, of loss and love. 

“I just love her so much,” he admits. “I want her to know that. I hope she knows.”

“I know, Dad,” Alyssa breathes. “I’ve always known.”

“She knows,” Angie assures. “And however long you’re gone, be it two days or two years, we’ll tell her. She’ll know.” She reaches out and touches his arm. 

He smiles at her gratefully. She gives him a soft nod. 

“Anything else you need from us?” she asks.

Danny thinks for a moment, before a thought strikes him. He pulls a blank— but secretly not-so-blank— piece of parchment from his jacket. “Yeah,” he says. “Give her this. For fifteen. You know, since that’s when we started making it.” He pauses. “As long as you’re okay with giving it up, that is. I would hope it makes her smile.”

“Make her smile?” Angie asks curiously, not privy to some of the other usages the map has, since she, and her four other friends, all know the password. 

“Check this out,” Danny laughs, tapping the map. “Mister Vision, what do you think of Veronica?"

I think Miss Whisper is simply wondrous, the map writes. Mister Plume, however— 

Barry gapes. “Rude!”

Angie grins. 

Alyssa laughs with her, making a note to check on the map later, to ask Mister Vision what he thinks of her. 

She also takes note that her mother is Whisper, which, fittingly, leaves Nick’s father to be Stripes. She tries not to dwell on such a fact, knowing it will only cause her to grow upset, instead turning back to what’s playing out in front of her, finding some part of herself capable of smiling when her uncle’s voice cuts through her pensivity. 

“Now we have to give that damn map away,” Barry jokes, but there is some weight behind the words as he shares a silent look with Angie before nodding that they’re willing to hand it off to its next worthy user. 

“Plus, it’ll keep her safe at school,” Angie adds. “You know, if she ever decides to cause trouble or sneak out to meet somebody like her dad,” she teases. 

Danny gapes. “You really think she would? Sneak out and meet somebody?” He’s slightly horrified at the thought. 

Angie laughs. “She’ll be a teenager. Of course she will!” 

“Not my baby,” Danny defends playfully. 

Alyssa bites her lip around a grin. She wonders what her father would think of Emma, of the fact that every other week they seem to sneak out and meet up. She’s sure that he would be just as horrified now as he was then, but even that she longs for. 

“I’m sure your parents said the same about you,” Barry jokes. “And yet there you were, kissing Ronnie under the moonlight like some prince. Remember that time you did your hair up? What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to impress her!” Danny groans. “Why do you always bring that up?”

Leaning in eagerly, she searches for the traces of a story being told, of a history that only these three friends know. She wishes to know every tale, every whisper, to know every little thing that was maybe thought unnecessary; for her, such things perhaps feel the most certainly needed, especially now, especially as her whole world seems to be falling apart. 

There’s a darkness around Hogwarts, around this place that used to hold light and purity. She wishes for some levity. She gets it as her aunt pokes fun at her father in this memory, in this old life that was once theirs before they had to bid each other farewell. 

“Because you looked like a fucking dork. That’s why,” Angie supplies affectionately. “The only reason we were able to warn you that she was coming was because of the map,” she reminds. “So yes, we will be giving this to Alyssa. Even just for the sake of her social life. Lord knows Greenes need all the help they can get.”

Barry practically cackles. 

Danny glares at his best friend with as much heat as he can muster, which isn’t really that much. 

Angie grins back at him, softening. “And hey, even if this thing only keeps her from making a fool of herself in front of her first crush, we’ll be here to keep her safe, too.”

“Agreed,” Barry chimes in. “We’ll protect her, Dan.” 

“We’ll protect both of them,” Angie corrects. “Though I think Whisper would kill all three of us if she knew that we thought she needed any kind of safeguarding.” 

“Amen to that,” both men mumble. 

The blonde laughs and rolls her eyes as she reaches forward, taking the folded up map from Danny and making sure that it’s completely blank. “Two drama kings, the both of you,” she teases. She holds up the parchment one final time in the light. “For her fifteenth, you said?”

Danny nods. “Just put it on her pillow, or something. She shouldn't know where it came from. It’ll only make her sad if I’m…”

Angie nods. “Consider it done.” 

He smiles grimly. “Thank you. And I’m so sorry, to both of you. These monthly things are supposed to be to unwind, and I made it sad as shit.” He scrubs over his face. “I just want to make sure everything is as good as it can be before I leave,” he admits. “I want Alyssa to grow up happy. Is that stupid? Considering how we’re living right now?”

“On the contrary, my friend,” Barry tells him. “It’s perhaps the most sane thing that we can want for anybody.” 

“I am happy, Dad,” Alyssa whispers. “I wish you could know that.” She reaches for him absently, before she remembers that this is only a conjuring of remembrance; her hand sweeps right through his shoulder, and she can’t help but smile humorlessly at how fitting such a gesture is. 

Just out of reach. Her father will always be just out of reach. 

She repeats his words anyway, imagining that his next movement is because of them. “I’ve grown up happy. I promise.”

Danny relaxes a little at the reassurance. “Gringotts,” he reminds them. “For every year. Even if—”

“You won’t be,” Angie insists again. 

Alyssa’s heart rolls over in her chest. He will be. He’ll be gone. Eight years will pass. They will accept him dead, though in an unspoken fashion that leaves no room for an actual kind of grief. There simply won't be time to mourn. Besides, they never find a body. Still, the Fifth Stand will mark his name with honor, with the colors of all houses for he embodied not just the best of Slytherin house, but the best of Hogwarts itself. 

“I might,” he refutes. “Just… keep her safe. Keep her happy, and… alive to open them. Promise me.” 

A promise, a vow. 

Barry and Angie take zero time to hesitate. “We will,” they agree readily. 

***

That night, Alyssa stays up late, staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet any thoughts that may give her hope. 

It’s been a hard evening, to say the least. After her weekly walk down literal memory lane, she’d gone to have dinner, which had ended in Nick proposing that they all hang out for a little while in the Room of Requirement. 

It’s nothing particularly unusual — at least a few of them usually spend time together after hours somewhere every night— and honestly, she’d thought it would be a good idea to get away from all the thoughts of her father. 

The only thing was that when she’d entered, it had been her father’s chair waiting for her, the one from May 7th. 

The rest of the night she can’t really recall aside from smiling, nodding, and laughing where appropriate, and finally bowing out early with Emma trailing behind her quickly without so much as a discussion between the two of them. 

The rest of her friends had called for her to stay, but she couldn’t stomach it. 

In the end, her girlfriend had walked her to the dungeons, held her close for a few moments, and then kissed her goodnight, whispering that she hoped she would feel better in the morning. 

And now, here Alyssa lies, alone in an empty dorm room, weighing what her life has come to in her hands. 

Her father’s map, what she now knows to be one of his most prized creations, just two feet from her, practically calling her name. 

Around two in the morning, she finally caves, snatching it up from its spot. 

Her hands shake as she unfurls it, grabbing her wand from under her pillow. She mimics her dad, tapping the parchment. 

“Mister Vision?” she asks, shyer than she’s ever felt in her whole life. “What do you think of Alyssa Greene?”

She waits with bated breath, telling herself that maybe the map has lost its magic, that maybe there’s nothing to it anymore, that the gentle bit of personality that each marauder had imbued into the sheet has left with the death of her father— 

Alyssa’s eyes widen as she watches words scrawl across the page in familiar handwriting, the handwriting she’s been studying for the better part of several months. 

Mister Vision would like to inform Alyssa that he is very proud of her. 

Suddenly, her chest feels unbearably tight, as if the weight that was sitting slightly heavy over her heart is suddenly crushing her. Over the last few weeks, whether she’ll admit it or not, it’s only peen pressing down more, only made her more tense to the point that most everyone has noticed. But now, it’s strikingly painful, like a hot poker against her ribcage. 

Before she can stop herself, before she can use all that training she has of stopping the tears before they fall from years of her father being gone, the floodgates of emotion rip open, and Alyssa can do nothing as she starts to cry. 

It’s been eight years. And this is all she gets of her father: this stupid map and his old, stupid memories, and a sure vision of stupid eyes that she now almost feels watching her every move. 

Mister Plume and Miss Padfoot would like to request that we not be insulted. 

Alyssa’s eyes widen as she realizes the tip of her wand is still on the page, that these young versions of her aunt and uncle, of her father— their spirits no doubt unknowing of the tragedy that follows, only of the first few years of the next generation of life— are hearing her thoughts.

“Sorry,” she mutters quickly, pulling her hand back. 

Mister Vision would like to request that she not cry, either. 

Alyssa nods roughly, her breath stuttering and tripping over itself, smiling to herself slightly. Some version of her dad is in there, if only a sliver. It’s bittersweet, like the borderline-hysterical joy that comes from a joke told after a night of shared sorrow. She forces her tears to subside, watching as the ink on the page fades. 

She doesn’t push for more; she knows that the voices in the map aren’t the people she knows, not really. It’s only comforting to know that enough is there for her to slightly understand the spirit of the man that once was.

***

“What in Merlin’s name made you fall asleep with that in your arms?” Kaylee asks, nudging her friend awake, Royce wound around her like ivy as she pulls the covers back on her best friend’s bed to make her get up so they don’t miss mealtime downstairs. 

Alyssa starts, looking around for what the girl could possibly be referring to when she realizes the map is still open across her chest. She doesn’t remember it, but she undoubtedly dozed off still eagerly exploring its secrets. 

“Was just studying it,” she manages, rubbing her eyes. “You know, since my parents, Uncle Barry and Aunt Angie had a hand in creating it, I thought I’d look a little deeper.”

Kaylee squints. “Did they?” She visibly wracks her brain. “I don’t remember you ever telling me that.”

Alyssa freezes for a moment, realizing that no, she very much did not tell any of her friends that, since she just found out herself. She tries to play it off as best she can, not ready to give up the secret of her time with the pensieve up yet. Somehow, it feels sacred, private. 

“I guess I didn’t,” she laughs quietly. 

“Are you okay?” Kaylee asks curiously, tilting her head to the side with care. “You’re acting a little weird.”

“I’m fine!” Alyssa answers, too fast to be truthful. The voice of her aunt and uncle, as well as Shelby rings through her head: terrible liar. She does her best to slow down. “I’m fine, really.” 

“You sure?” Her best friend narrows her eyes further in concern. “Something going on with you and Emma? Is it school? Or something on your mind that you haven’t said?”

“Nothing like that,” Alyssa assures to the first item in the list of questions. “And you know, classes are classes. I’m all fine. Promise.” She tries for a smile. 

Kaylee lets out little hmph but says no more, and for that, Alyssa is grateful. 

“I am kind of hungry though,” she adds, trying to break some of the awkwardness. 

Her roommate smiles at that. “Okay, fantastic. Because I heard there’s French toast downstairs.”

Chapter Text

Shelby blames the fact that she spends every other night in the body of a fox for the fact that she can smell Marcus Thatcher approaching. That, and the fact that he’s a sixteen-year-old boy without proper hygiene. 

Either way, she’s unfortunately aware of his approach. Shelby mentally debates scaring him by addressing him without looking up, but decides to snap her book shut and glare at him instead.

Marcus, to his credit, only slightly falters in his angry approach under her gaze, and Shelby narrows her eyes at the blank — and familiar — piece of parchment crinkled up in his grip.

“Is that a love letter, Thatcher?” She greets as soon as he’s close enough, and she notices Kaylee and Greg look up from whatever they were doing to the side — Shelby notices nail polish bottles, maybe? — to watch this interaction while Nick pauses their movements, halfway through a bite. 

Marcus scoffs. “I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh? And where does she go to school, Canada?” She feels Kevin laugh where she’s leaning against him and allows herself a smile at Marcus’s clear ire.

“No,” he hisses out, but shakes his head. “That’s not the point. Tell me how to use this,” he orders, thrusting out the parchment. 

Nick nearly chokes on his sandwich, eyes wide. “Where did you get that?” they manage to cough out.

“Your bag, Junior . I can’t get it to work, and it keeps giving me stupid messages,” Marcus says while he pulls out his wand. “Like this: Reveal yourself!” He commands the parchment, tapping it and making sure Shelby and her friends can see the words that appear.

Miss Padfoot and Mister Plume disrespectfully request that Mister Thatcher kindly bugger off.

As Kaylee collapses into laughter, Marcus gestures wildly and puts his wand away. “See? Why do you even keep this around?”

Shelby barely has to think of an answer. “To confuse idiots like you who want to go through our stuff. Now, if you could kindly return it—”

“Take it.” Marcus shoves the Marauders’ Map into Kevin’s chest with more force than necessary. “It wasn’t even worth taking.”

“Have a horrible day!” Kaylee calls out sweetly as Marcus storms away, turning and smacking Nick as soon as he leaves their group. “Why the fuck was he able to take that from you?”

“I don’t know,” Nick cries out, still holding half of a sandwich. “Stop hitting me. I’m trying to eat!”

If Shelby hadn’t been so absorbed in her friends’ antics, she might have noticed the continuing presence of Marcus in the courtyard before her friend cried out.

*** 

Emma smiles as she watches Alyssa open her dad’s journal. They’ve just gotten out of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and now they’re headed towards the courtyard to meet their friends; this is the one free period they have that coincides for everybody. 

She hooks her arm in Alyssa’s to help lead her along, reading over her shoulder. 

Year One: Find Some Good Friends! 

She smiles, remembering that Alyssa had slipped the notebook under her nose in one of the few dull moments of class, showing her how her father had carefully calligraphed the prior page to read: How to Survive Hogwarts (Mostly) Unscathed!

She can only assume that each page after accounts for the following years of schooling. 

One of the best things that’s come out of these past months— aside from their increasing closeness as a couple— is the fact that Alyssa has finally been given a way to connect to her dad. 

She leads them through the hall, her heart swelling in her chest when she hears Alyssa laugh quietly at something written. Emma never knew it was possible to feel like this, to feel so happy because somebody else she cared about was. But any time Alyssa smiles, she can’t help but smile. Any time Alyssa’s eyes are bright, she can’t help but light up, too. 

“What’s he say?” she asks softly. 

“He’s recounting the fact that Uncle Barry spilled his Every Flavor Beans all over my mom the first time they met.” Alyssa grins, continuing to read. “Apparently Mom got super up in arms about it, but they laughed about it all the time afterward.”

“I love that.” Emma keeps pulling her toward the right courtyard, glad that her girlfriend trusts her so much to guide her that she doesn’t even feel the need to look up. 

Unable to tear themselves away, hazel eyes continue to stay on Alyssa, on the way the corners of her lips are turning up slightly, on the few strands of her falling into her face. She reaches forward before she can stop herself, she brushes the hair out of the way, looking away for barely a second. 

Alyssa blushes, leaning into the touch for a second, opening her mouth to say something, before the moment is broken when the book clutched tightly in her hands is suddenly snatched from her grasp. 

“What’s this, Greeney?” Marcus asks, grinning wickedly, eyes scanning the page she’s on. “We had to sit next to each other because of the way things were set up. I suppose it was destiny,” he reads aloud, deepening his voice in a poor imitation of an adult. “This from your mommy, Greene?” 

Emma watches in horror as the boy continues to ruffle back through the book, until he gets to the first page. 

“Oh, from dead dad?” he laughs. “Where’d ya get this?”

“Give it back!” Alyssa cries, rushing forward, pulling herself from Emma’s grasp. “This isn’t funny!”

Marcus only laughs, though, holding the journal over his head, watching in terribly misplaced glee as Alyssa jumps, trying to reach it. 

“If you want it, then you’ll have to get it!” He grins, pulling out his wand and casting a levitating charm on it, flying it through the courtyard. “That traitor Slytherin has been gone for years, hasn’t he? Why you reading this thing like you just got it?” 

His poor excuse for friends cackle at his antics, not a single one of them seeming to realize just how cruel the boy is being. 

Emma’s frozen, heart sinking and stomach turning. She always knew Marcus was a bully ever since Nick came out, ever since that first time her friend couldn’t access their dorm, but this feels like the final straw. 

She doesn't know what’s happening to her, but as she watches Alyssa start to break, tears collecting at the corner of her eyes, red impedes the edges of her vision. She trembles, not in fear, but in anger. 

“Marcus!” Alyssa begs again. “Please! Give it back! It’s really important to me—”

“Oh, is it?” the boy asks, moving the book in a loop-de-loop, smugness written all over his features, disgusting joy in his eyes, until—

It’s practically an out-of-body experience as Emma watches her fist connect with the boy’s nose. 

Hard. 

So hard that she hears a resounding crack. A crack she feels beneath her knuckles. 

***

“Reckless! Irresponsible!” Hawkins booms.

“Where’d ya hit him?” Barry asks quietly.

At the same time, Angie murmurs, “You put your weight behind it, kid?” 

“Of course,” Emma replies out of the corner of her mouth. 

“I expect better from you, Nolan!” Hawkins says angrily, leaning onto his desk, about to go on a tirade, when all of her friends burst in at once. As soon as they get into the office, each of her friends say something different in her defense.

“It’s not her fault!” Kaylee cries.

“She was protecting me!” Alyssa says.

“He deserved it!” Kevin exclaims. 

“The dude’s face is punchable!” Greg points out.

“It was a great punch!” Shelby reasons. 

“I just wanted lunch!” Nick groans. 

Emma loves her friends, but not all of those are entirely helpful in this situation.

Against her better judgement, she adds her voice to the chorus, cocking her head to the side at Alyssa. “You okay?” 

“Oh God, spare us from the gay,” Greg breathes, eyes widening when he realizes how that sounds to the adults. “Wait! I’m gay! I’m not homophobic!” 

Emma watches in surprise as Hawkins’ lips twitch at that. 

“That’s alright, Mr. Nolan,” he says calmly. “Though you must understand that just because you and your friends burst into my office, all with varying degrees of validity to your excuses for your cousin, what Emma did is a violation of our policy against violence.” 

“Unless if it’s self defense,” Barry pipes in, pushing back his cuticles with a coffee stirrer without a care in the world, seemingly unafraid of the headmaster. “Isn’t that the rule?” 

Emma gapes at her teacher; she didn’t expect to hear a defense. In all honesty, she was totally ready for whatever punishment the headmaster was going to give her.

Hawkins nods carefully. “That is the rule, Professor Glickman.” 

“Well, then was it self defense, Emma?” Angie adds, eyes urging her to say yes. 

She nods frantically. “It was!” 

Hawkins narrows his eyes. “Are you sure, Emma?” 

“It really was!” explodes from her friends again, and she rolls her eyes, shooting them a half-hearted glare that communicates exactly how unhelpful they’re being. 

“Yes, sir,” she replies. “Marcus was bullying Alyssa. Took her book and was flying it around the courtyard. And he’s been tormenting Nick for years.” 

“We can corroborate such things,” Barry and Angie say in unison. 

Hawkins raises a hand, giving them a look, as if to say don’t be so obvious about what side you’re on. 

“So can I,” Nick pipes in. Soon, there’s another chorus of agreement from their friend group, this one more civil, more earnest. 

The headmaster sighs, looking around at his students, both current and former. He weighs his options before nodding curtly. 

“Alright, then. It seems that I’ve been outnumbered.” He sweeps his hand over the room. “You may go, Nolan. Send in Thatcher though, would you?” 

Even though there’s nothing audible, Emma can practically feel the cheerful excitement emanating from the corner of the room her friends are crowded in. 

“Will do, sir,” she says, murmuring behind her a quick thanks, to which Hawkins, to his credit, smiles at, before standing up and strolling out, rather pleased with the way her friends follow without a single word. 

She heads down the staircase, refusing to look back, waving her fingers at Marcus in a gesture that’s so very un-her and definitely something she picked up from Kaylee. “Headmaster wants to see you,” she calls. “Nice nose.” 

Her friends snicker behind her. Clearly, Marcus hasn’t had time to go to the infirmary yet from the way his nose is swollen, crooked, and bloody, but someone had the decency to hand him a few tissues.

“That was some punch, Em,” Nick praises quietly as they round the corner back toward the courtyard they were all planning to hang out in.

“And you’re sure your hand isn’t hurt?” Alyssa asks softly, reaching for her elbow. 

“We know how important those are,” Shelby and Kaylee both cough at once, earning a shove from their best friend. 

“You know we’re taking it slow,” Alyssa hisses, cheeks darkening. “We literally just started really dating, you absolute weirdos.” 

Emma laughs, actually answering her question. “No. I’m all good.” 

As they walk, her friends continue to pepper her with questions, ranging from damn I wish it had been me to how hard did you really punch him? 

A smile plays on her lips, answering each one carefully until they’re back in the courtyard. To her surprise, when she shows her face, several people grin at her, and even a few clap. 

“That’s right!” Kevin calls. “Make way for Nolan! Slayer of Marcus Thatcher: Resident A-Hole!” 

Emma shakes her head in amusement, grinning for a moment before she turns around and gives him a shove. “You’re a prefect. Zip it.” 

“That’s right!” Kaylee calls even louder than her friend. “ Make way for Nolan! Slayer of Marcus Thatcher: Resident Asshole!” Emma glares at her, and she shrugs. “What? I’m not a prefect!” 

It causes an explosion of laughter from their entire friend group, and Emma finds her heart settle in her chest slightly. She looks to the sky for a moment, remembering suddenly the page Alyssa was reading. She closes her eyes, taking a breath before sending a silent message to Alyssa’s father, wherever he is. 

She found some good friends, Mr. Greene. She did. And she has me, too. 

*** 

“What was that about, anyway?”

Alyssa looks up from her book, answering Shelby with a shrug. “Marcus was being a dick.”

“Yeah,” Shelby replies from a bean bag the Room provided today, “But about what? You seemed really upset over that book he was floating.”

“Is it that same book you’re reading right now?” Kaylee asks.

Now that Shelby takes a closer look, she’s pretty sure that it is. But just as she recognizes the book, Alyssa slams it shut and puts it behind her back. “What? No. This is… this is from the library.”

“What’s it about?” Shelby asks, sitting up. “Is it about that new Runic alphabet? Because I’ve been trying to get that book for weeks, and Mister Delilla keeps--”

“No,” Alyssa interrupts, “Though I think I’m also on the waitlist for that book.”

“Then what book is that?” Nick asks. He goes to reach for it, probably to read the title, but Alyssa swats his hand away. “Ow! Jeez, why am I the punching bag today?”

“You’re an easy target,” Emma jokes.

“You don’t seem curious about the book.” Shelby narrows her eyes at the Hufflepuff who’s sitting next to Alyssa. “Do you know what it is?”

Emma’s eyes widen, darting to Alyssa before answering. “What? Uh, no? Yes? I— she doesn’t want to share, so—”

“Actually,” Alyssa cuts off her girlfriend’s rambling hesitantly. “I think I do want to share.”

“Why even keep it a secret in the first place? We literally have a mind reader; there’s no secrets between us,” Shelby points out.

“Yeah,” Kaylee tacks on quickly — almost… too quickly. “This has to be one of the only secrets there’s been between us.”

“To be fair,” Emma points out. “‘Lys and I did keep our dating a secret.”

“A bad secret,” Nick mutters.

“Back on track,” Kevin interrupts the digression, and Shelby smiles at him. “Scout, what do you want to show us?”

“Right.” Alyssa takes a deep breath and pulls her book back out. “I’ve been meeting with Headmaster Hawkins, and Professor Dickinson, and my mom, like, once a week. Remember when I was pulled from Potions?” Everyone who is still taking Potions nods. “That was the first meeting. Apparently, my— my dad left me some stuff. In case he wasn’t… back.”

“Back from where?” Greg asks, one of two people who doesn’t really know what happened to her dad. Shelby doesn’t have the full picture, either, but she remembers a little of what Alyssa told her in third year. 

“He was working undercover for the Stand,” she explains. “He’s been gone longer than he should have been. I don’t— I don’t want to say he’s dead, but…”

“He went with my father,” Nick growls out. “Senior betrayed him. Her dad’s either even deeper undercover, or on the run, or…” they trail off, but everyone knows what word they don’t say.

Shelby decides to believe the undercover story.

“One of the things he left me is this,” Alyssa says, holding up the book. Shelby can make out Danny, 2008 imprinted on the cover. “It’s his journal.”

A book?

Alyssa’s just been hiding a book?

Hey, Shelby tells her brain. Stop that .

That journal obviously means a lot to her friend. It’s a chance to know her father, in a way that she hasn’t had the chance before.

“So your weekly meetings are just… talking about your dad?” Shelby asks, keeping her weird moment to herself.

“We’ve been using a pensieve,” Alyssa corrects. “Going through memories he bottled for me. There’s corresponding journal entries tied to each memory, and some extra entries in between. I try to read the entries before seeing the memories.”

“When have you been reading these entries, three am?” Kaylee jokes. Shelby narrows her eyes when Alyssa doesn't respond to her roommate’s question. “Fucking Merlin, how much sleep have you lost over this book?”

“Do you want an honest answer?” Alyssa asks.

“That’s answer enough,” Shelby replies. 

“I’m sorry about keeping this from you guys,” the Slytherin apologizes. “It’s just been… this is my piece of him, y’know?”

Shelby doesn’t really know, but she nods with the rest of the group anyway.

“I mean, it’s not just my dad talking about himself in here,” Alyssa says, probably feeling the need to talk. “It talks about my aunt and— uncle.”

Kaylee narrows her eyes. “Wait, is this journal why you knew your dad invented the Map?”

“Him,” Alyssa corrects, “And also my mom, aunt, uncle, and Nick’s father.”

“They’re the Marauders?” Greg exclaims, almost falling out of his seat.

Shelby leans forward, too her excitement less physical. “I hope you know I have at least seventeen questions already.”

“I don’t expect anything less,” Alyssa replies with a smile.

***

Settling into bed, Alyssa casts lumos gently so she can read by the light of her wand as Kaylee feeds Royce. Now that she doesn’t have to hide it, it’s much easier to consume her father’s words at a godly hour. 

It’s afternoon, but classes had let out early due to it being a Friday

She cracks open the journal, struck immediately by the change in look of the page, which is easily explained as soon as she reads the first line. 

Don’t panic just because of the different handwriting, please! 

I’m your Uncle Nicky. I’m writing this year for Danny because he was an idiot and fucked his wrist over for a little bit.

Alyssa’s stomach turns over. She doesn’t know what she expected; her father’s friends were bound to show up in the parchment eventually. She forces herself to read on, though; part of her is curious about this man that her uncle calls a bastard, regretful lingering affection behind his eyes, this man that her aunt was on the verge of tears for.

Still, something doesn’t feel right. For a moment longer, she stares at Uncle Nicky scrawled on the page, before she continues to read, trying to shake the weird shiver that passed through her. 

So, here we are.

Year Two: Quidditch and the Best Broom Techniques

You’ll probably have tried out for the team as soon as possible, if I know anything about my daughter.

(I’ve got hopes that Nick tries out, too!)

Alyssa slams the book closed. She knows what it is that’s nagging at her. It feels wrong to read this section alone.

“Where would Nick be right now?” she asks aloud, surprising Kaylee who was having yet another argument with Royce about whether or not he could eat Marcus’ rat. 

“For the last time, no! It’s not the rat’s fault Marcus is a dickbag!” Kaylee snipes before she turns to Alyssa. “I think they’re running a short practice down at the pitch. He said they’d be done by dinner time, so you might be able to catch him right as it's ending.” 

Alyssa is out of bed quick as a snap. “Nox,” she whispers to dim the light at the end of her wand. “I’ve gotta run, then.” 

“Why?” Kaylee asks. “I thought you wanted to spend your free time reading the journal?”

“I do!” Alyssa insists, pulling on her shoes. “But I don’t think this section was meant only for me,” she explains, showing her best friend the top of the page as an explanation before getting ready to bolt. “I’ll see you at dinner! Save me a spot!” 

Kaylee can’t even say okay before Alyssa is out the door, her footsteps heard bounding up the steps. 

***

Nick is only a little bit unnerved at the way Alyssa has been staring at him for the last ten minutes they’ve been wrapping up quidditch practice. 

It’s not like her to invade a practice to get inside info, and from the looks of what she’s carrying, it seems she has her father’s journal, so there’s really no reason for her to be at the pitch. Still, from the way she’s buzzing with nervous energy— Nick is no legilimens, but he can tell when somebody is holding something between anxiety and excitement in their stomach better than anyone— it seems she can’t wait to talk to him. 

Finally, they can’t take it anymore, calling it five minutes early. 

“Everybody get dinner!” he calls, blowing his whistle. “I’ll see you bright and early for a full practice in the morning! Have a good night!” 

They smile when they see how quickly everybody comes down from the sky, Kevin leading the way, knowing there’s a rumor that there are extra brownies tonight since they’re close to midterm season and the house elves always have a soft spot for students at this time of year. 

Nick themself, though, doesn’t rush to the showers like normal, only flying over to Alyssa who’s got an even clearer glint in her eye now that he’s closer. 

“What’s with you?” he calls, dismounting and leaning their broom against the railing as they approach. “You finally get to second base?” 

“Nick, ew!” Alyssa groans affectionately and shakes her head with a smile. “No, I actually have something to show you.” 

“Oh?” they ask curiously, tiling their head to the side. “What kind of something?” 

“From my dad’s journal.” Alyssa holds it up. “Your father wrote an entry for mine. He got hurt, and he wanted to keep it up. I thought you might like to see.” 

Nick freezes. All good feelings from the way Alyssa reacted to his joke, from the practice which had everybody in good spirits with the way the team was performing, evaporate in an instant. 

“No thanks,” he answers quickly, a chill running through his bones. He tries for a half smile. “I’d rather remember him a bad guy, you know?” 

Their friend’s face falls slightly. “Are you sure?” 

It’s clear she was making an effort, an effort to open up, to share, and Nick appreciates it. They really do, but this—

“It’s just easier this way,” he says kindly. “Would I like to know about him? Sure. But it would hurt like hell.” They swallow hard, looking down. “I heard there are extra brownies. I might go and try to nab one—”

“His handwriting looks like yours,” Alyssa blurts out.

Nick’s eyes snap up to his friend’s face. “What?”

“His handwriting looks like yours,” she repeats. “You know, I didn’t want to remember my dad either. I thought it would hurt. But this…. Nick, this is a second chance. Maybe remembering the good parts isn’t so bad?” she asks softly. 

He doesn’t say a word, but he does sit down next to her, intrigued and a little fragile. 

“It’s about quidditch,” Alyssa tells him quietly. “Advice on playing, on techniques. Your dad left some beater advice too.” She points, handing over the journal and placing it in Nick’s lap. 

He starts to read, quivering like a leaf in the wind as their eyes track down the page. 

Because I have no doubts you’ll get on the team, here’s some tips and tricks I found helpful that’ll translate to any position you play:

1. Learn how to hold onto your broom with only your legs. You’ll never know when an extra hand will be helpful!

2. Speaking of hands: try and train both of them. Switching which side you’re carrying or swinging might mess up the defense your opponents set up.

3. (Some beater advice: aim for the knees. They’re smaller targets, but a slam in the side is easier to ignore than a shot to the knee.)

Nick registers that he learned that trick last year on accident, having sent a bludger what they thought to be off target and careening across the pitch and found it to be successful. Part of them smiles, but they try not to show too much. 

They keep reading, heart hopping into their throat when they see a set of parentheses in the final paragraph. 

4. Learn to feint. You’re a sixth year now, so you’re probably well-trained, but a good feint can make or break a game, no matter the position.

5. Putting a spin on the quaffle can help throw off the keeper!

I hope Angie’s taught you well as to what professional team to root for. (Angie lies! The Harpies are loads better than the Falcons have ever been. Don’t tell Danny I’m “slandering” his favorite team.)

“I love the Harpies,” he mumbles, and Alyssa puts a hand on their shoulder. 

“I know.” There’s a solemn sort of smile on her face, one of acceptance and also wonder. “It’s not bad to like some of the same things as him,” she murmurs. “Maybe you got all the good in him. It’s good to know these things.” 

Nick remains quiet, eyes and throat salty as they nod. “Maybe,” they croak, careful not to cry on the parchment as they turn back to it. 

To thank Nicky for writing this section, it’ll be short, and I’ll let him draw on the rest of this page.

Despite themself, Nick can’t help it when the corners of their lips turn up. They didn’t know their dad liked to draw, and his whole body contracts in at the sight of the sketch -- still, like a muggle’s drawing -- at the bottom of the page, lined in pen and shaded with pencil. 

It’s a drawing of the group of five, smiles evident on their faces as they sit arm-in-arm. It’s slightly messy, perfect because of it. There’s light in all of their eyes, shaded blushes on their cheeks presumably from sitting in the cold after a long quidditch match. 

Both Alyssa and Nick laugh at the scowl Nick Sr. drew on Barry’s face. Clearly, the man wasn’t as enthusiastic about the whole quidditch thing as everyone else. 

NBS is scrawled carefully beneath in a signature, and Nick reaches out before they can stop themself, tracing the initials. 

“He was really talented,” Alyssa whispers. “I had no idea.”

Nick shrugs. “Me neither.” His fingers move over the lines again, and their heart settles in their chest. This small bit of their father was good; it feels like a victory, like maybe everything they believed wasn’t a complete lie, a complete disappointment. Yet again, though, they are now forced to recreate their father in their mind, what he was, what he could have been. Nick stares at the page, unsure and wavering but grateful. “Thank you,” he mumbles, tears welling in his eyes. 

Alyssa nods. “You’re welcome. You deserved to see.” 

Suddenly, he can’t help it as he throws himself across the seat and hugs her. 

She rubs their back gently and hugs them in return. 

“Thank you,” he repeats. 

***

“Earth to Nick.” Emma waves a hand in front of her friend’s face, who finally shakes his head and blinks a few times. “What is up with you this morning? You’ve barely touched your food.”

“Nick isn't eating?” Kaylee asks, sitting down at the Hufflepuff table with her friends. “Is the world ending?”

“I don’t think we’ll know that until lunch.” Emma looks around. “Where’s Lys? And everyone else?”

Kaylee rolls her eyes with a snort. “Glad to know you have priorities,” she jokes, and Emma sends her a glare, but there’s no fire to it. 

Everybody looks to Nick to have a quick reply to that, something about how Emma is annoying everybody with her gayness, or that they can’t wait for quidditch to be able to get into the sky and away from his friends, but it never comes. 

He pushes his eggs around his plate, head resting in his palm with his elbow leaning on the table, before setting his fork down with a sigh and pushing the plate away.

He even puts his chocolate chip muffin back on the platter. 

Kaylee nudges him again. “Dude, what is up with you?” 

Nick shrugs; their expression is sullen, and upon closer inspection, it’s clear they didn’t sleep much. Weird, really. They like to be rested up before Saturday practice. Being in tip-top form is normally important to them. 

“Nick!” a voice calls out, and Emma turns in the direction it came from to see a mostly-familiar redhead rapidly approaching. She smiles politely at the fourth year, biting back amusement at the energy she exudes. “Nick, I couldn’t find you at the Gryffindor table and I know we have practice soon but— Are you crying?”

“No,” Nick ends that thought quickly, and Emma quietly wonders how a ginger pulled the first words of the day from her friend’s mouth before she could. “No crying. Just… had a rough time last night. It’s good to see you, Winnie.”

Winnie completely ignores the greeting, sitting down on the bench between Emma and Nick. “Don’t be sad, Cap! I’ll cheer you up by telling you about what I found in the Forbidden Forest after practice last night.” 

As Winnie digs around in the messenger bag she carries, Nick narrows their eyes. “Why were you in the Forest?”

The redhead ignores his question. “You know how I’ve had a mostly-completed ferret skeleton for a while, but I could never find a skull? Well—” she grunts in triumph, pulling something small and white from her bag— “I finally found one! I cleaned it out and let a purifying spell soak in overnight, then I made sure it fit and everything before coming down to show you the head of Bessie!”

Emma’s glad she finished her food, because seeing an animal skull just made her lose her appetite. She glances over at Kaylee, who seems to have had a similar reaction, because she’s slowly putting the still-full spoon of eggs back in the serving platter.

Nick, however, sits up and leans in closer to Winnie’s hands. “That’s so cool,” he says, examining the skull. “I always forget, what kind of ferrets are the wild ones?”

“That’s the black-footed ferret,” the redhead explains. “This skull matches the one in my books, so I know it’s the right one and not a magical creature’s skull. Actually, do animals have the same magic and non-magic divide as us? Are there muggle ferrets and magic ferrets with skeletal differences?”

“You sound like my friend Shelby,” Nick comments with a smile. “Have you eaten yet? Quidditch on an empty stomach is never fun.”

Winnie’s eyes go wide, and Emma holds in a snort. “Oh, you’re right! I should eat something! And I gotta put Bessie back in my dorm and I gotta say hi to Natalie and— See you at practice, Nick!” 

With that, the Gryffindor jumps up and runs down the tables.

Nick watches his teammate leave with a smile, turning back to his plate and jumping at the expressions on Emma and Kaylee’s faces. “What?”

“Are you aware that you’ve adopted her?” Kaylee teases, snickering as Nick’s face turns as red as their robes.

“So what?” they defend, running a hand through their long hair. “I’m her team captain, why shouldn’t I be interested in her interests?”

“Because it’s bone collecting in the Forbidden Forest on Fridays?” Emma asks, and Nick huffs.

“Look.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “From what I’ve gathered from offhand comments, Winnie doesn’t have the best home life, and I don’t claim to know anything about Pureblood stuff, but even I know that the Thompsons don’t treat her right.”

“The rumor is that she’s illegitimate,” Kaylee answers in the same tone, “But there’s nothing about abuse or neglect in the rumor mill.”

“Like I said, they treat her rough.” Nick shrugs, looking down. “I kinda get it. I mean, I’ve got my mom and stepdad, but my dad…” They trail off, sighing. “I took her under my wing, started asking about what she likes. She’s like a little sister, I think.”

“We’re all only children; you’re asking the wrong people,” Kaylee jokes, and Nick sends her a glare with no malice. “She seems like a good kid, if talkative.”

“Also—” Emma points to their plate— “You told her off for not eating yet when your eggs are cold, you hypocrite.”

“Aw dang, really?” Nick looks down at his plate, grabbing his fork and shoveling the cold eggs into his mouth anyways as he keeps talking. “I guess I’m giving her do as I say, not as I do vibes.”

Kaylee grimaces. “Just stop talking with your mouth full.”

***

Alyssa groans, scribbling out yet another poor attempt at a constellation. Normally, she can make herself focus, but she’s hit some kind of mental wall that she didn’t build herself that’s stopping her from focusing.

She pulls a few more books out of her bag, hoping one of them she needs to actually use to study may catch her eye, but the only one that seems to call to her is the one she very much needs to not be distracted by. 

Daniel, 2008

She stares at the cover, hoping that whatever spell it has on her will dissipate if she wills it so, but it only seems to grow stronger. 

Trying to resist, Alyssa taps her fingers on the table, studying the wood grain, but it’s no use. Rationalizing that she’ll have to read the page before she heads to Hawkins’ office later this week anyway, she snatches it up from the table, allowing it to fall open to the page that she’d bookmarked a few nights ago, smiling as she reads the title. 

Year Three: To Electives and Beyond!

By now, you’ve long chosen your electives and have moved on to the sixth year options if you so chose to take any. I sincerely hope you’re in Apparition; even if you can’t take the test until seventh year, the Ministry doesn’t track non-licensed apparitions once you’re legal. The sensation is also unpleasant if you’re not used to it. 

Alyssa is sure that her father would be pleased to know that not only she, but all of her friends, elected to take Apparition, though it’s mostly for the thought that the fate of the world may rest on their shoulders. 

She’s sure that he would be less pleased by that fact. 

I’m sure your aunt and uncle talked your ear off about the different electives and what to take, but I hope you ultimately decided what to take on your own; that’s the best way to make sure you enjoy your schoolwork. No matter; I wanted to talk to you about them myself.

Arithmancy is the study of the magical properties of numbers, but your mother always insisted it's something like Muggle Arithmetic — Math? She used the two words interchangeably -- at the higher levels. Your Grandma Stilton’s a mathematician, apparently, so I trust Ronnie’s word on this comparison.

Kevin, Nick, Shelby, and Emma all seem to agree with Veronica’s sentiment, and Alyssa too trusts them at their word. She smiles; it’s so clear how similar some of her friends and her father’s are and were. 

It’s bittersweet. She knows that, but it spreads warmth through her nonetheless. 

Care of Magical Creatures is known as “the easy elective,” so only the jocks and those actually interested in the subject take it. CoMC (a mouthful no matter how you shorten it) is all about learning how to care for non-sentient beasts. If your professor tries to group werewolves or centaurs into that group, run and report them. That’s a clear sign of specism and you should try to scrub everything they’ve told you from your mind; you have no idea what else they might have mistaught.

Nodding carefully, Alyssa remembers that Kevin, Nick, and Emma had said something similar. The new Care of Magical Creatures teacher is great, but the one before, Professor Beverly, had been specist and discriminatory at best. She hadn’t lasted long. 

Everybody now seems to enjoy the class, especially her two friends and girlfriend, all of which have a knack for taking care of animals and treating them with kindness. 

Divination is another “easy” elective, but you need to have the head for it. It’s the most popular elective at Hogwarts, but it also has the lowest retention rate, since Professor Strickland’s — is he still Professor? — first two weeks are rumored to be built to weed out those who don’t have the right mindset for the class. Pretty cunning, if you ask me. ;)

“Huh,” Alyssa laughs to herself. She’d always known that it was a difficult class for many, and she can’t help but giggle a little at the memory of Shelby exclaiming how non-concrete of a course it is. 

It’s only the Ravenclaw’s stubbornness and thirst to know just about everything she can that kept her in the class, and Alyssa knows they should be grateful that’s the case. 

If she hadn’t, who knows if they’d have found out about the prophecy. 

The next two classes her dad describes are much more familiar to her, since they’re the ones she’s taking. 

Muggle Studies, also known as the one chance muggleborns have to learn what their parents are talking about in their letters. A surprising amount of purebloods take the course, actually, because when they need to go to muggle-dominated areas the class helps them blend in. The racists tend to avoid it, however.

Silently, Alyssa agrees. She’s never seen Thatcher or his cronies anywhere near that classroom. 

Study of Ancient Runes, or, for short, Runes, is largely theoretical when taught at Hogwarts, but there’s some rather in-depth books on the practicals in the Library. Ask your aunt if you have any questions!

Personally, I took Runes and Arithmancy as my electives, and I really wish Advanced Runes was a course. They’re fascinating; it’s almost like learning another language, like French! I settled for reading about the subject as an independent study.

Your mother took Muggle Studies, probably in an attempt to keep up with current events so she wouldn’t seem too strange during the summers with her mother and extended family. I know the Stiltons mean well, but they never fully understood that Ronnie’s a witch. She also decided to take Arithmancy, so we always had that class together.

Barry managed to make Frog Choir count as an elective, but he might have been favored from being a Ravenclaw; seriously, that house gets to make so many loopholes regarding their schedules, it’s crazy that they all manage to graduate. 

Alyssa laughs, recalling the fact that her best friend has managed to take just about every class she can get her hands on that’s of interest, despite the limit. It seems that some Ravenclaw practices never go out of style. 

Your uncle also took Divination, but he almost dropped out a few times despite surviving the two-week hazing of third year.

Angie’s a Divination whiz, though she hates to admit it for some reason, and I think she’s the only reason Barry managed to pass that class. We liked to compete with each other over our Runes grades (I was always better).

Alyssa makes a note to ask Angie if the parenthetical claim is true. There’s no doubt in her mind that the answer will be a resounding no, and he smiles at the thought. 

Nicky tried for years to get Quidditch to count as an elective (I think the only reason he kept failing in that was that he wasn’t a ‘claw). He did pretty well in Care of Magical Creatures, and  his grades in Divination were consistently better than Barry’s, a point of strain in their relationship. 

Now that I think about it, Nicky and Barry were horrible for each other like that. I’ll go more into this later, I’m getting off track.

Alyssa can’t help but wonder what exactly her dad means, but she can hear students getting out of their classes outside the library, which means she only has a few more moments alone before her friends will wander over for their study session. 

I hope you picked classes that interested you, and I sincerely hope that you’ll be able to use that knowledge in whatever career you find yourself in. Heck, maybe they offer more NEWT-level electives now, too, that are more helpful. I’ll explain the three I knew.

Apparition, as you might know, is the most popular elective that Hogwarts has, since every young mage is itching for their license. If you turn seventeen before the new school year you can get your license in sixth year — even if you don’t have your license, you can apparate without tracking after you turn seventeen. Don’t ask me how I know (ask your aunt instead).

Alyssa knows why, now. She would have known if her father had a license, and it’s clear that nobody in the last few iterations of the Stand have, considering the whole point was to not be tracked. 

Advanced Arithmancy studies is less popular, but is still consistently taught every year. I guess enough people enjoy the subject to continue their study — your mother certainly did.

Reading that, she can almost imagine the amount of times her father called her mom a nerd in affection. 

Regret wells up in her chest; she wishes she remembered. She barrels on, forcing her emotions to tamp down. 

In all my years at Hogwarts, Alchemy was only taught twice. Since the days of Flamel, the study of Alchemy has fallen from popularity; nowadays the course is mostly populated by the few who really enjoy potions, if it’s held that year. I don’t see why anyone would want to spend more time with Professor Allen, but to each their own.

A laugh bubbles out of Alyssa at that. She, too, can’t imagine wanting to spend any more time in the presence of Dee Dee Allen. Emma, however, had disagreed, voicing her excitement one night when they’d gone out to fly after dark about the possibilities and uses of alchemy in the future. 

On the other hand, Alyssa herself had been much more interested in Runes mostly due to its—

Seriously, if you even want to consider Cursebreaking as a career, learn more runes.

The corners of her mouth turn up. It seems her dad knew her and what she may want even before she herself was aware. 

Some of her curiosity quelled, it seems that her ability to focus has returned as she turns back to her astronomy notes. Just in time, considering Kevin and Nick are on their way towards her right now. 

“Thanks Dad,” she whispers, dropping the book into her bag.

Chapter Text

Getting some fresh air by the lake while spending time with her dad the only way she can is something that makes Alyssa almost irrationally happy. She leans against the tree, unable to contain the warmth and affection that rushes through her when she sees the title:

Year Four: How to get the girl/guy/grill(?)

I know that there are people who aren’t boys or girls, or men or women, but at the moment I’m writing this there’s no guy/girl equivalent word (at least one that I know). Guyrl? Giry? Grill? 

I’m going to use grill. I’m sure there’s a word for them for you, but please remember that I’m an old guy. I have a kid. I’m not as coolio as you think I am with the lingo-slingo.

Alyssa rolls her eyes and smiles, endlessly endeared by her father in this moment, at how wholesome his effort is. She simply has no words for how she felt reading the phrase coolio as you think I am with the lingo-slingo, but he won’t ever know how much she laughed at him. 

Her eyes widen as she reads the next part, and whether she likes it or not, her face is getting hot. She did not expect to get the beginnings of some sort of when two people love each other very much talk. 

Still, she keeps reading, eager to know at least what her dad has to say so she can make fun of her mom, aunt, and uncle later when they’re inevitably mentioned. 

Fourth year: the year hormones begin. There’s a moment that not many people talk about, when they realize just how deep feelings for someone run. I’ve asked my friends about this moment, and have come to the conclusion that I can’t summarize it.

It’s a feeling. It’s an instant where the dots connect, when those lingering stares and warm cheeks, the stammering and the confusion, suddenly align; you can finally see the big picture, the why .

And all you can say is “Oh.”

Alyssa nods without thinking; she’s had her oh moment. It was tiny, but looking back, the first time Emma nudged her affectionately, the first time they ate dinner together, the first time the Hufflepuff walked her back to her dormitory, was their moment. 

From then on, she knew. Maybe not consciously, but she knew. She knew that she’d do just about anything to keep Emma beside her, knew that what they shared were more than just silly school girl crushes. There was passion, yes, but that wasn’t what pushed them to each other. 

What pushed them was the other’s warmth. What pushed them was how secure the other felt. 

What pushed them was late nights and early mornings, the day Alyssa couldn’t sleep and went out to sit by the lake at 4am and Emma was already there, waiting, having had a bad night of her own. 

What pushed them was that day they spent together, Emma introducing Alyssa to the world of muggle music and story, sharing headphones like two teenagers at some small town high school. By the end of those twelve hours, they’d been exhausted, as happy with each other as they knew how to be, fifteen and shy, intoxicated by safety and comforted with the knowledge that in this moment they knew nothing of the world but how whole and happy they could be with each other. 

This is the first time that Alyssa recalls disagreeing with anything her father said in these pages. He was right about the oh moment, but the longer Alyssa thinks, staring at his handwriting, how its scrawled across the page in haste, as if he didn’t want to forget a single word, she can’t help but think that while, yes, there is a moment where you feel utterly seen by somebody, if it’s real, if it’s sure, it will be like that forever. 

She supposes her parents felt like that, that this is what he meant when he said that it’s difficult to summarize, but she also knows that nobody tells you how easy it is to fall in love nor how difficult it is to stay there. 

But somehow, she’s stayed there with Emma without too much trouble. She laughs to herself at the thought that she just had another oh moment about her girlfriend and she’s not even here. 

Gayyyyyy, Shelby and Kaylee sing in her head, even though they, too, are not beside her. 

Told you so, Jules adds, and she recalls his letter where he told her to open her eyes. He was right. She smiles.

Continuing to read, it’s impossible to contain that grin. 

It might not happen in your fourth year. It might not happen at all. Some people don’t feel love like that, and that’s okay. Barry’s partner, Trent, doesn’t feel like that, but he loves Barry anyway. Barry told me the name once — queer-platonic? Again, I don’t really understand it. But I love Barry, and if he’s happy, I’m happy for him.

Fun fact: I fell in love with your mother in fourth year. Sure, I liked her before, but we all celebrated my fourteenth birthday together, and my wish was to spend forever with her. That’s when I had my “oh” moment.

“And then you kept having them, Dad,” she whispers to nobody. “You just didn’t know it.” 

She perks up as she sees the names in the next paragraph, moving on before any sort of emotion can take hold too deep in her chest about the time her parents lost. 

Angie’s still looking for hers. Sure, she’s dated a few guys and girls, but when I asked about her moments, she admitted that she hasn’t had one yet. Maybe that’s changed since I’ve been gone. Ask her about it.

Barry confided that he didn’t have a moment when he was with Nicky, but it wasn’t until he had one for Trent that he realized it. I remember so clearly what he said. “Infatuation fueled us, not love.”

Nicky also said that he didn’t have a moment for Barry. I actually don’t know if he had a moment for his wife, either, which concerns me, since he’s now a father.

Alyssa stops, suddenly connecting her own dots about what her father’s saying: Nick’s father and Barry? It makes sense: the anger, the secrecy, the disappointment. She never knew her uncle had a partner before Uncle Trent, though it makes sense why he never discussed it. 

She doesn’t know what to do with the information, though she makes a note to tell Nick when the time is right. Checking the clock, she realizes that time is waning thin. She’s supposed to meet her friends at the Room in less than an hour. 

She pushes on, eager to see what relationship advice her dad might have, if she’s done any of the same things he did in order to win Emma’s affection. 

But this section is about how to get yourself a partner, not about my own life.

Well, saying “get the grill” is pretty entitled, huh? Let’s rename it to “How to fall into the favor of someone you like,” or something shorter. This section is about romance, should you be interested in it. Nothing further, however; I refuse to give you The Talk through a book.

Alyssa laughs but is very glad he doesn't. As it is, hearing her dad talk about hormones wasn’t exactly the highlight of what she’s read so far in this book, and she doesn’t want to hear more about anything of that nature from her dad, at least not like this. 

The next part, though, wipes any discomfort from her mind. Alyssa finds that it’s impossible to not be endlessly endeared by her father. 

This section is enchanted to match the people you like, for simplicity’s sake: simply touch your wand and whisper the pronouns.

Alyssa follows the instructions and watches as certain symbols rearrange to become she and her, a surprising, advanced, wonderful bit of magic she’s never seen before, and also an extra line appears above the section. For a second, she wonders what spell was used, but she can’t even continue to think on the topic when she practically snorts reading the new line that’s shown up. 

A girl, eh? Good to know we both like women.

Rolling her eyes affectionately, she laughs a little, before moving on to the list and taking in each point. 

1. Be likeable. This might sound stupid, but not being a jerk is the best way to make sure the girl you like could possibly like you back. 
2. Be you. Another cliché, but pretending to be somebody you are not can only end in heartbreak. 
3. What does she like? You don’t have to like everything that she does, but making an effort is nice. 

Alyssa nods, checking off how she’s never been anybody but herself — perhaps to a fault with Emma — and how she’s tried her best to get into Herbology. Idly, she recalls a moment between them, how her girlfriend had practically melted when she saw Alyssa reading a book from the library about how to properly take care of succulents and other house plants. 

4. Make her laugh. If you can laugh with somebody, you can do just about anything. It takes rhythm, closeness, trust. 

Absently, Alyssa can’t help but think she’s never laughed so hard as she has with Emma. It makes her breathless, honestly, the way every word of this makes her think of the Hufflepuff, makes her grin with the knowledge that while this advice is important, it’s more of a way for her to get to know her dad than an eager search for love. 

Her dad was kind, it seems. She knew that before, but it’s nice to see it for herself. 

5. Dress nice! Again, seems obvious, but I had to teach Nicky this. It’s a silent way to show you care! 

I’m sure that teenage crushes and all of that stuff has changed since I’ve been away, but I hope this helped even a little. These are just five tips that I’ve worked out — trust me, I’ve played matchmaker for so many people, most of them successful, not to brag or anything! — and I really, really hope that you find/have somebody that loves you, Alyssa. 

I’m sorry I’m not there to meet her. I’m sure that she’s wonderful. I love you. 

Quietly, Alyssa can’t help but press the heels of her palms into her eyes at that, allowing the book to fall into her lap. 

Dad and Emma would have gotten along. So well. 

She can imagine the conversations they’d have about quidditch, how much fun they would have constantly causing trouble, how Emma would have loved to have somebody like her dad, and how much her father would have enjoyed the girl’s company in return. 

Shaking herself out of it, she shuts the book, tucking it into her bag and pulling on her shoes from where she’d taken them off to put them in the sand by the lake. This is no time to dwell on what could have been. She has more important matters to attend to. 

***

“Your dad likes men.” 

Alyssa enters the room not with a greeting, but with that phrase.

Shelby raises a single eyebrow. “I hope you don’t mean my Papí,” she says calmly.

“That could explain some things about mine,” Kaylee muses humorously, tilting her head and staring off into the distance. 

“I don’t even have a dad,” Kevin frowns, confused.

Emma and Greg just share a look with each other.

One by one, everyone turns to Nick, the only person who didn’t say anything.

“What?” they ask, looking to Alyssa. “ Mine? ”

“He dated my Uncle Barry in school,” Alyssa pulls her journal out, flipping through until she found the page. “Look, right here.”

“Isn’t Professor Glickman married to Professor Oliver?” Kaylee asks. “I thought everyone met their spouses in school.”

“That’s a very pureblood worldview,” Shelby teases. “My parents didn’t meet until after college.”

“My mom met my stepdad after I was born,” Nick adds.

“Professor Oliver went to Beauxbatons,” Emma says.

“So I’m used to arranged marriages,” Kaylee throws her hands up in defeat. “So what?”

“I’m so glad I was disowned.” Emma sighs. “No need to worry about whether I like my betrothed or not.”

“Same,” Greg says. “Sometimes being gay is great.”

“Back to Nick’s father,” Alyssa redirects the conversation. “Point is, there was an attachment. That’s why he was so angry, remember?” 

They both think back to that day in Angie’s classroom where their whole world changed.

“A lot of things make sense now,” Nick says under their breath. “It’s good to know I’m not the only queer member of my family.” They manage to crack a smile. “Any other parallels between us and our parents?” he asks. 

Alyssa waves the book. “I plan to read a little more tonight. I’ll let you know.”

***

This memory will be different from the rest, but I think it’s important you see it. 

Alyssa scans her father’s note. It’s shorter than all the others. She’s a bit disappointed, until she reads what’s in it. 

The memory you will see when you go into the pensieve is one of Barry’s, one I specifically asked him for. But for now, I will tell you about animagi. 

Her back straightens as she takes in the information, much of it on the process, how useful it can be, and an explicit warning of don’t tell your mother. She smiles at that, almost able to hear it in his voice. 

Many of the applications he describes are things that Alyssa has already encountered, though she is curious more than anything to know what her parents’ and aunt and uncle’s forms are. There isn’t any indication. 

The final paragraph leaves her on an ominous note. It makes some kind of worry claw at the inside of her chest. 

I really hope that this memory feels unnecessary to you when you see it. I hope that it makes zero sense. I hope that you may never even have to see it. But, if it does mean something, if you know where I was coming from when I asked Barry to give it to this collection, then all I hope is that you’re being safe, that you are loved, and that all of this comes to an end very soon. 

I love you very much, Alyssa. 

-Dad 

She reads the section over again in confusion. It’s vague at best, oddly transitioning from a joyful recount of animagi adventures, of running across the grounds, of Hogwarts mysteries solved and conversations heard to a solemn warning and wish. 

Nevertheless, she allows her fingers to trace over the single sentence before he signed off, taking a deep breath before she shuts the book and leaves the Slytherin common room, heading up the stairs in the direction of the headmaster’s office. 

***

Descending into a pitch black memory isn’t exactly the kind of thing that’s high on Alyssa’s bucket list. It’s not that she’s afraid of the dark, but with the lack of direction of what she’s supposed to be seeing, she isn’t sure what to think. 

She feels around in the room for some kind of solid surface, before she also remembers that she won’t even be able to really touch her surroundings. 

A voice she recognizes breaks through the uncertainty. 

“Lumos Endura.” 

Those are the first words Alyssa registers in this memory, and she’s grateful for it, because until they were said she was literally standing in an endless darkness. Guess her Uncle Barry’s flair for dramatics even extends to his pensieve memories.

A light, focused from the tip of his wand, illuminates a room that he’s annoyingly familiar with. The pillows and low tables cast strange shadows across the Divination Tower’s floor, and the air, for once, is free of the haze that comes with every single one of the hundreds of candles being lit at once. It’s almost too sharp.

“The fuck kind of spell is that?” Angie asks him, moving with ease across the room. 

Barry scoffs. “It’s just Endura , Angie; read a book once in a while, and you’ll remember what we learned about in Charms.”

“Me? Read?” Angie laughs, crouching down to root around for something. “Never.”

“Jock,” Barry teases.

“Bookworm,” Angie retorts. It’s a common exchange between the two. 

Alyssa laughs to herself, wondering what this version of her aunt would think if she knew that one day she’d be a beloved Hogwarts professor. For now, though, she seems set on her quidditch dreams, down to the… exquisite nature of her vocabulary. 

“Where the fuck are they?” she growls, winding around the desks angrily, searching. 

“I still don’t get why we couldn’t come during the day to retrieve your notes,” Barry says, looking around the tower. “Or even tomorrow; I’m sure Strickland would have been understanding if you explained the situation.”

“And have his favorite student explain to him why she couldn’t answer his question about star charts?” Angie throws a look over her shoulder like Barry grew a second head, almost feline in her movement. “Man would have a fuckin’ heart attack.”

“He will have a heart attack if he learns that we broke into his classroom in the dead of night, and it won’t matter if I’m a prefect or not,” Barry mutters, shivering. This room is creepy . “Can we just go? I don’t like how this room feels during the daytime .”

“Hold yer fuckin’ horses, Bar,” Angie practically yells. “Bring that light over here, wouldya? Can’t see shit from the shadows.”

Alyssa’s absolutely floored at her language. Professor-mode must have really changed her. 

“Keep your voice down!” Barry whispers, but he moves closer to the Hufflepuff. “Strickland sleeps up here; do you want to get caught?”

“Sure, sure,” Angie dismisses his concern with a wave. “I’m tellin’ you, though, that man could sleep through a fucking—”

There’s a thump from the trapdoor. The students freeze.

Alyssa rolls her eyes. “So much for sleeping through, huh, Angie?” she laughs to herself, turning back to the memory and seeing a similar look of disappointed amusement on her uncle’s face.

“Nox,” Barry whispers. The light fades from his wand as he moves, ducking behind a half-empty bookcase right before they’re both plunged into total darkness again, the overcast sky and new moon outside preventing any natural light from filtering in through the windows.

A scant few seconds after Barry slows his breathing down, a new light shoots through the opening trapdoor, and Barry is just able to see that Angie’s gone and hidden herself, too, only the tip of a tail revealing her hiding spot. He breathes out a sigh of relief. 

Despite only being a spectator, Alyssa hides too, reflexively ducking away behind a desk, keeping an eye on both her aunt and uncle on separate sides of the room.

Barry, however, doesn’t really have time to worry about where his friend is because Professor Strickland stumbles up the ladder, pale and shaky in the candlelight. 

The door thuds behind him, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself on a table. “No, not now, not here,” he mutters, loud in the silent room. 

Somehow, this feels familiar to Alyssa, even though she never even got very close to Strickland or the Divination classroom. Though it isn’t her own memory, her mind catches on a frantic recount from earlier this year, one that has haunted and stuck with all of them, forced them to change the way they see the world, Hogwarts—

Hunched over, Barry can’t see the professor’s face from his vantage point, but a breeze comes from nowhere and starts swirling around the room. Cast in the halflight of the single lit candle, the sliver of flame on his face makes him look like the stuff from nightmares: hollow, merely a vessel. Barry shivers in tandem with his professor, freezing when Strickland goes stiff, straightening up and staring into nothing. 

Alyssa swallows hard, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone, too. 

Then, he speaks.

“Seven are young and an Eighth grows old—”

Her heart sinks. She could pick out those eight words anywhere.

“—With power to vanquish the Dark Lord foretold.” 

She starts to mouth along with the prophecy, suffocated under this sudden knowledge that maybe they aren’t so alone in this, that maybe there are others who know the truth, though her father is gone—

“Blood of all kinds gather Seven together, and finding the Eighth is a storm one must weather.”

Alyssa looks to her aunt and uncle, and the horror on their faces is clear as day. 

Barry shrinks behind the bookcase. There’s an extreme sinistry about this moment, a suffocation. He can’t breathe— 

The voice continues. He doesn’t think it’s Strickland's voice because it isn’t his, not really. He knows that. 

Whatever this is, it’s something much darker, much more intertwined with fate and fear itself. 

Alyssa recalls what Kaylee and Shelby told her, how cold it felt. She thinks she understands a little bit more now, though she does speak the prophecy with Professor Strickland as he finishes it. 

“Love between Foes becomes linking thread,
And all must stand strong, if none become dead.
Seven from Seven of months separated;
Let clocks rewind to discover what's hated.
Seven are young and an Eighth grows old,
With power to vanquish the Dark Lord foretold.”

The last word claws its way from his mouth in a voice not his own, killing the breeze around the room as the professor comes back to himself. Gasping, he collapses, muttering words from the poem he just said in a voice more urgent than Barry thinks necessary.

After some time — Seconds? Hours? — Professor Strickland pulls himself to his feet. “A prophecy,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “This is not good… tell someone, I need to tell someone.” 

Alyssa thinks something along the same lines. She has to tell the others. As soon as this is over, she’ll call an emergency meeting. She nods to herself.

Similarly, the Divination professor nods and picks up his candle and leaves, closing the trapdoor and leaving Barry and Angie in darkness once more.

“Lumos Endura,” Barry hears Angie mutter before the room is lit again, his friend standing in the middle. He peeks out from behind the bookcase, noticing that her face is as pale and shaken as he feels. “What the fuck was that?” Angie asks, looking to the Ravenclaw for an answer.

He doesn’t have one.

Alyssa hates that she does. 

***

“Emergency meeting. Ten minutes.” She shoves as much urgency into her tone as she can with the rapidness and severity of it, sweeping by the Gryffindor table where Kevin, Nick, Greg, and Emma are all hanging out. She already asked Kaylee to let Shelby know. As she keeps moving, she leans over Thatcher’s head to grab a cookie that he was reaching for, taking a bite without breaking her stride and leaving the Gryffindor spluttering in confusion.

She takes another bite, not even having to look behind her as her friends start to flank her and head in the direction of the Room, trailing behind. It seems that even the stairs can tell that whatever matter they’re attending to is pressing, at least from the way they shift and move so that she can almost directly get to the proper corridor. 

“What’s this about?” Nick asks, catching up to her. 

“My dinner was really good,” Kevin whines. 

“You’ll see,” Alyssa calls over her shoulder, pacing by the empty wall until the door appears without looking up, brow furrowed in worry and contemplation. 

She’s glad to see that her two best friends are already in the room when she and the rest of their group enters. 

“You’re being really weird, Scout,” Greg even observes, though he doesn’t dig for any more. 

“Is everything okay, ‘Lys?” Emma questions. 

There’s a lot going unanswered for them as Alyssa sweeps over to the whiteboard and grabs a market, starting to write without looking up. 

Prophecy been around since 1990s? Alyssa scrawls across the board. AD, BG, Dad? Mom? NBS? 

“They knew,” Alyssa whispers to herself. “They knew, which means that they probably tried to solve it. Or maybe they didn’t—”

“Who knew? Who did or didn’t?” Shelby asks, standing next to her. 

“Alyssa, what the hell is going on?” Kaylee chimes in. 

Murmurs of agreed confusion move about the room until Alyssa finally takes a step back to look at her handiwork, arrows and lines drawn — some sensical and some not — about the surface. 

“My parents.” She looks to Nick. “Our parents. They knew about the prophecy.” She points to her aunt and uncle’s initials. “They all did.” 

***

Drinking butterbeer and snacking on pastries in The Three Broomsticks while also discussing the possible fate of the world isn’t exactly something that Emma Nolan has ever had on her bucket list. 

And yet, here she is, sandwiched between her cousin and her girlfriend, and it’s possible to think this all normal -- except for the fact that said girlfriend is reading off lines from the notes for the next memory she’s going to watch that her missing-in-action-maybe-dead-maybe-alive dad left her. 

Ever since they found out that Alyssa’s parents, Nick’s dad, Professor Dickinson, and Professor Glickman all knew about the prophecy since their schooling days, the words and their possible meanings haven’t been able to leave the air between them. 

Right now is the perfect example. 

“Listen to this,” Alyssa says, gathering all of their attention. “There were a lot of dementors on campus, year six. That was the year before You-Know-Who rose.” She looks around at her friends, all of them suddenly quiet. Emma knows she hates to be a damper, but this book also needs to be read for any kind of hint, any kind of something that could help them even in the slightest. The Slytherin keeps reading; everybody around the table sits up a little straighter as she does. “Remember, if you see a dementor, think of a happy memory. I’m sure by now Angie has taught you about patronuses, but remember: a happy memory. Anything you can think of. With feeling. Happiness will be your best weapon against whatever you may face. Darkness hates it. Be happy. That’s what I can tell you.” 

“That’s his advice?” Kaylee scoffs. “Be happy?” 

“I have to admit it’s not his best,” Alyssa agrees. “But he’s trying. And he’s right about the patronuses, isn’t he?”

“I think it’s nice and helpful,” Emma speaks up, surprising even herself. “It reminds us that it’s okay to take breaks sometimes. And it tells us that Moldy is out there. If they’ve seen this before, at least we know what we’re up against.”

Everyone contemplates her words for a moment before the first of them pipes in. 

“I have to agree with Emma,” Shelby says. “It means he’s back. We wouldn’t have had confirmation without this. And now, we know what to practice.” 

“My patronus has never been very good,” Nick admits. 

“Mine barely gets corporeal,” Kevin adds sadly. 

“Well then we’ll just have to work at it!” Shelby comforts as enthusiastically as she can, knowing that a corporeal patronus is one of the most difficult charms out there. “Don’t worry!” 

“Something about your voice tells me I should worry,” Nick laughs, taking a sip of his drink long enough that he has a foam mustache. 

“Nice,” Emma teases, pointing at it. “Now you look like Merlin.” 

Everybody snickers while Nick wipes at their face, rolling their eyes good naturedly before speaking. “Why don’t we meet tonight?” he asks. “We could practice spellwork overall and hang out?”

There isn’t even a peep of any kind that signals refusal. Everybody knows how much work there is to do. 

***

“Nick,” Shelby chastises. “It’s clockwise.”

“Sorry,” they mumble, eyes screwed up in concentration. “I’m doin’ my best.”

“Stop focusing on the spell,” Shelby advises. “Try focusing on the memory you’re picking. If the ones you’re trying aren’t working, try one from a different section.”

Nick nods, taking a breath. He mutters the charm, wand spinning, but all that comes out is a white wisp, barely a form of anything. He sighs. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” she reassures. “You’re still making a patronus. It’s just noncorporeal.”

A cheer climbs up from the other side of the room, and Shelby looks over to see Kaylee proudly holding two snakes — one Royce, the other the tell-tale glow of a patronus. Shelby smiles at her friend, at the pride in her eyes and the smile lighting up her face, and she notices that Kevin has the same expression.

Huh. 

“And that,” Emma announces from where she had been coaching the Slytherin, “Brings our corporeal count to five!”

Kevin, who still hasn’t dissipated his solidly-corporeal dolphin patronus from his earlier successful breakthrough, offers a high-five to Kaylee.

Nick sighs as Emma moves over to her cousin — he seems to be about two seconds from crying out of frustration, and Alyssa seems to be in a similar position — and draws Shelby’s attention back to them. “I know… I know the memories are a really personal thing, but what do you think about?”

Shelby tilts her head, drawing her wand absentmindedly. “At first, I thought about you guys. My friends, my family. Laughing and talking, just co-existing with everyone I love.” Her eyes slide shut as she talks, and she begins to narrate the thoughts that float to the surface. “But I realized that I was going down the wrong path of thoughts. Sure, I enjoy being with loved ones, but to get to those memories I was pushing past my instincts. I overthought. So, I stopped thinking.”

She lifts her wand, muttering the incantation and spinning the tip. As warmth bloomed through her chest, she doesn’t need to open her eyes to see the pale fox racing around the room. 

“When I stop thinking… that’s when the memories I need arise. The miles of library shelves, the wonder of first year, seeing everything for the first time. A world of questions, but more importantly, answers , all waiting for me to discover them. I’m happier in these hypotheticals than I really should be, but I don’t care. It’s my mind. I don’t need to rationalize my joy.” Shelby opens her eyes and looks back to Nick, dissipating her fox. “Don’t rationalize what you should be thinking about. Just… think.”

Nick nods, closing his eyes. He’s silent for a moment, but Shelby can see that her advice is helping when a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Expecto Patronum.” Nick spins their wand again, and Shelby laughs as a huge mass of white bursts from their wand tip, forming into a horse taller than Kevin and galloping across the Room. 

“We’re up to six!” Shelby cheers, pulling Nick into a hug out of sheer pride. “Guess I can get through that thick Gryff skull of yours after all, huh?”

“You got through Kevin’s,” Nick replies with a smile, returning the hug. “Thanks, ‘Bee.”

“Babe, just show him yours, why don’t you?” Alyssa’s voice cuts through their celebration, her competitive streak slipping out as she watches her friends have success in their coaching while she’s still struggling to help Greg out. 

Shelby wanders closer as Emma nods, fumbling her wand out. A white form bursts from her wand, but everyone stares as it turns into, not a golden retriever like it was the last time she cast the spell, but a falcon, eerily similar to Alyssa’s animagus form — not her patronus, however; that’s consistently been an otter since fifth year.

“What the— Where’s Goldie?” Emma shakes her wand like that will fix the issue before turning to Alyssa for an answer. 

Shelby will never admit to the tinge of irrational jealousy that runs through her at the Hufflepuff’s action, most likely fueled by a mixture of that book and the fact that Alyssa is her girlfriend. 

A year ago, she would have looked to Shelby for an answer.

A year ago, they didn’t know they were part of a prophecy.

A lot changes in a year.

Alyssa shrugs in confusion, however, and Emma turns to Shelby before she can really feel more than the gut instinct. “Any ideas, Scarlet?”

Shelby racks her brain for a moment before remembering a side note Professor Dickinson added during the history rundown. “The patronus is a reflection of inner parts of you; just like you can change and grow and evolve, so can your corporeal patronus.”

Emma hums, looking up at the bird circling her head. She holds her arm out like she does when only Alyssa transforms, and the falcon lands on her arm silently. “Still, a falcon? That’s hilarious, considering my vision is shit.”

“It looks like my Animagus form,” Alyssa muses, stepping closer to her girlfriend and reaching out to the pale bird, fingers brushing through the mist. “Maybe it’s a sign? That I’ll be your eyes when you need it?”

“That’s so gay,” Emma teases with a smile.

Alyssa rolls her eyes. “We’re lesbians, Em. Everything we do is gay.” 

“Okay, okay.” Greg breaks the moment before they can go even deeper into sappiness. “Can we move on from the form-shifting patronus to the only person in the room who still can’t make theirs corporeal?”

“Get with the program, Prism,” Kaylee teases, still holding two snakes.

Nick walks over to Greg and whispers something in his ear; if Shelby was self-involved in any way, she’d assume that they told him the advice she gave them. 

Greg gives him a look. “Really?” At Nick’s nod, he shrugs. “Okay. Nothing else has worked.”

“You’ve got this,” Shelby says. 

Greg takes a deep breath, spinning his wand and speaking the incantation. A burst of white flashes from the tip, a stream of white that held no indication that it would become corporeal or not. After a moment, Shelby deflates as the stream begins to wisp away into nothingness, before coalescing into a familiar form.

The room is silent as the white bear lumbers to its feet and turns towards Greg, who stares at his patronus in shock.

“I’m a twink. What the fuck!”

Chapter Text

Kevin checks in at the front desk of the library before wandering deeper into the shelves. He was meeting everyone for a study session soon, and thanks to his last hour class letting out early he was probably going to be the first person there, so he would have plenty of freedom in laying out his stuff on the table that is realistically too small for eight people to all study at.

He steps into the alcove with their chosen table and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Nick and Cynthia already huddled over a pile of papers. 

“Hey Kevin,” Cynthia says without looking up from the oversized book in her hands. Next to her, Nick is making some kind of shape with his hand. “You’re early.”

Kevin blinks a few times. He could’ve sworn Nick and Cynthia both had a class in the afternoon, but they appear to have been here for at least a little while, judging by the mess on the table. “How long have you two been here?”

“About an hour,” Nick says, running their hand over one off the loose sheets of paper then making some kind of circular shape with their fingers. 

Neither of them offer any clarification so Kevin shrugs and sits down, dropping his DADA textbook on the table with a thud. It’s so big this year that he swears it weighs at least ten pounds. He leans back in the chair to watch Cynthia and Nick work, unsure what to do.

Over the next few minutes, the rest of their friends trickle in, classes done for the day. Emma sits next to Kevin and tilts her head when she notices Nick and Cynthia. “What are you guys doing?”

“Sign language,” Cynthia explains. “Unfortunately, the wizarding world doesn’t have great disability accommodations so the information is—” she looks distastefully at all the loose papers— “Limited.”

Out of curiosity, Kevin grabs one of the papers that had drifted over. The paper was old and creased, like it had been folded and unfolded many times, and it was covered in crude drawings of hands with arrows pointing in different directions.

“We’ve only managed to find one textbook in the entire school,” Nick gestures to the book Cynthia’s holding that is large and flat. “So we’re working off that and these letters that Cynthia’s mom sent.”

“We’re learning because of my sibling,” the Hufflepuff adds. “Alex is hard of hearing, and we want to make home a space where we can all communicate, now that they’re getting past toddler years.”

“That’s really amazing,” Alyssa says, leaning over Emma’s shoulder to look at the book. “I would ask you to teach me, but maybe over summer break? I have so much work, it’s almost sad.” She sighs and looks down at the pile of books sitting in front of her. There are more textbooks in the pile than all of Kevin’s classes combined and he feels thankful to have nothing to do with whatever hell class Alyssa chose to take.

“Hey Kevin, what did you get on the magical creatures test from last week?” Emma asks, and just like that everyone breaks back off into small conversations as they rush to finish the homework they’re there to do.

Nick continues to try their best with the handshapes while Cynthia leans against him, batting her lashes and distracting him anytime he actually gets into it. 

Everybody else smirks at each other knowingly, and Alyssa is about to open her mouth to tease her friend when she sees the clock on the wall. 

“Shoot!” she hisses. “I have to see Headmaster Hawkins. I totally forgot!” She pops up, pressing a kiss to Emma’s cheek and waving at everyone. “I’ll see you all at dinner!”

Her friends wave goodbye as Shelby pipes in, “There’s apparently pie tonight. You want me to save you a slice in case you’re late?” 

Alyssa smiles at her gratefully. “I’d love that.”

***

This time, the landing is softer, and Alyssa is grateful. Again, she finds herself in the Room of Requirement, except now, all five Marauders are present. They’re seventh years by now, and as she looks from herself to her two parents, the likeness is uncanny in features. It makes her smile. 

Danny and Veronica lean against each other on the couch while Barry and Angie bicker over the armchair and Nicky sets up the chessboard for one final round. 

It’s half-past eleven now, but it’s Sunday tomorrow, so there’s no class. After weeks of too much studying, they all thought they deserved a break. 

“How about whoever wins gets the chair next time?” Veronica proposes to her two best friends, ever the diplomat. “One of you can be on Dan and I’s team, and the other can have Nicky.” 

“I call Nicky!” Barry and Angie rush out at the same time. 

Rolling his eyes at that, Nicky motions for Angie to come sit. “I’m always on Plume’s team. Come here, Padfoot.” 

Barry gasps dramatically. “The betrayal, Nicholas!” 

Everybody laughs. 

Alyssa does too, watching the group of friends settle in, listening to the fire crackle. It’s almost possible to imagine that this is how the rest of their life goes. 

She smiles sadly, suddenly remembering the title of this entry: Year 7: Decide What You Want. 

It becomes clear in an instant. 

This is what her dad wanted. 

Danny throws an arm over his girlfriend, kissing the side of her head. “Time to kick butt?” he asks.

Veronica leans into him. “Always.” 

“You discount my skill!” Nicky complains. “And Angie can… move pieces!”

“Hey!” Angie cries. “I also know what the castle-looking piece does!” 

He wanted his friends. He wanted a life. He wanted chess at midnight, quidditch year round. He wanted a family. 

Alyssa watches the five best friends laugh as the night carries on, breathless, because if she’s honest, if she really looks at herself, she’s had this moment, too, sat in this very room, snuggled under Emma’s arm, breaking down into uncontrollable giggles with her best friends. 

It makes her heart speed and sink; all of the things her father wanted, she wants them now, too. It’s a bit terrifying, knowing he never got there, but if his life is any sort of lesson, Alyssa knows she has to savor whatever time she’s given. 

That’s what he wanted her to learn. 

As the realization hits her, Nicky calls checkmate, and the memory starts to fade. 

For once, Alyssa does not linger, satisfied though heartbroken as always, a weird sort of mix of acknowledging the tragedy and learning to let go. 

She’ll never truly set the memory of her father free, but now, she knows, at least, what to do with what he has given her. 

***

“Do you guys wanna hang out tonight?” Kevin asked, taking another bite of pie. “It’s almost Christmas! There can’t be a lot of work left, and we should all spend some time together before we go home.” His eyes are the epitome of a puppy dog asking for an extra treat, and it’s barely a moment before everyone agrees. 

“That sounds like fun, Kev,” Nick says around a bite of cookie. 

“I can finally teach you chess!” Shelby’s eyes light up. 

“I’m kinda sleepy, but I’d be happy to just hang there,” Emma adds. 

“I need a break from hearing hundreds of thoughts while I try to study,” Greg chimes in. 

“I’d be willing to tag along,” Kaylee pipes up. “I happen to be pretty good at Wizard’s Chess too.”